


An Unexpected Introduction

by TwilightLegacy13



Series: Things Unforeseen [2]
Category: The Witchlands Series - Susan Dennard
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Friendship, Minor Character Death(s), Multi, Multi Chapter, Original Character(s), Post-Bloodwitch, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-01-25 00:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 44
Words: 151,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21347200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwilightLegacy13/pseuds/TwilightLegacy13
Summary: Taking place after Bloodwitch, a continuation of the story in which the characters of the Witchlands find themselves with a great deal of problems that still need to be solved.  The stakes are just as high as ever, with new introductions, surprising allies, and crippling betrayals.
Relationships: Aeduan/Iseult det Midenzi, Ryber Fortiza/Kullen Ikray, Safiya fon Hasstrel/Merik Nihar, Vivia Nihar/Stacia Sotar
Series: Things Unforeseen [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068053
Comments: 176
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by @un-empressed on Tumblr! This is my continuation of the end of Bloodwitch. I don't own the characters (except for one) or world it takes place in.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a very familiar bird arrives, some might say that there was bound to be something of great importance that follows. But as characters from across the continent are inadvertently brought together, it could prove to lead to more than anyone would have imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the first chapter of the fic - I don't know exactly how long it will be yet, but I do have lots of ideas for it. Hope you like it!

It wasn’t long after Aeduan had left the stone wall behind that he heard it—a quiet clacking noise that grew in persistence, stark against the quiet of the world around him. Ordinarily he would have searched for threats and scouted the area, but he did not sense any blood-scents that belonged to humans. _It must be an animal_, he decided, and kept on his way.

But as the sound continued to become louder, it was harder and harder to ignore, as it seemed like the creature was very close indeed. Finally, Aeduan stopped walking and waited to see if whatever it was would come, or if it was going elsewhere.

After less than a minute of this, a flapping of wings alerted him to the presence of a rook that circled down from the branches above and landed on a fallen tree. All of this for a bird?

Aeduan made as if to keep walking, but something kept his feet frozen in place. It seemed odd, didn’t it, that he should see two lone rooks within less than a fortnight even though the species often traveled in flocks? And surely it wasn’t possible for them both to act so sentient—it was almost like this rook was looking at him.

_Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a bird._

It might just be a bird, but still he didn’t move. The rook cocked its head, staring at Aeduan with gleaming black eyes. Its beak clacked several times in succession before a very strange thing happened.

The bird hopped forward on the tree and jutted out its neck like it was pointing at something. This was not normal behavior. Aeduan inhaled deeply and caught the scent of forest fog beneath the freedom. It was too unique of a blood-scent to be a different animal.

_Have I gone mad?_

The rook made the same movement again, with more intensity this time, before it launched off the tree bark and flew directly at Aeduan. He instinctively leapt back, but it was surprisingly agile, and it landed on his wrist before he could do anything about it.

He stopped breathing for a moment, every impulse in his body screaming to get the thing away, warring with the little voice inside him that said not to. He didn’t at all understand that voice, but something told him that this bird was important. So, calmly enduring the peculiar sensation of talons gripping his forearm, he waited for the rook to gesture once more.

And it very much looked like it was pointing to Aeduan’s pocket.

The pocket that held the silver taler.

Heart pounding, he pulled out the coin with his free hand and weighed it in his palm. It glinted in the sun, and dried blood still remained from where Aeduan had cut himself to mark the taler. Looking at it was little more than a cruel joke now, a memory of the person he could no longer track using his witchery.

_Iseult_. Where was she, and how could he find her? He had made a promise and he would keep it, but he had no idea where to begin looking for her.

Interrupting his thoughts, the rook hopped across to his other wrist, startling him so badly that he almost jumped. Aeduan forced himself to stay still as the bird plucked the coin from his palm using its beak. _What in the world is it doing?_

Then, without warning, it flew off with the taler still in its beak. The rook left so deliberately, however, that it was almost eerie. It circled back to see if Aeduan was still watching, going in the opposite direction he had been walking.

This was impossible. This couldn’t be happening.

And still he followed.

Aeduan was led by the stupidly intelligent bird all the way back to the blank stone wall— only it wasn’t blank any longer. It was a doorway, rimmed in glowing blue light, a dark passageway extending past it. It most certainly hadn’t been like this before, but at this point he almost wasn’t questioning it.

“If you want me to go in there,” he warned, “I am not going to do it.”

The rook dropped the silver coin on the ground expectantly, as if it was proving a point by doing so. The metal shone brightly against dark soil, teasing at Aeduan’s vision even as he labored to ignore it. It was such a clear reminder of Iseult, of how she could be anywhere right now and he would never know.

Unless…unless this was the way to find out. After all, it hadn’t made any sense a little while ago when he saw the blank face of rock in front of him, the backdrop for a single bloodstained coin that was so much more than its monetary value. And if there truly had been this doorway before, and it had closed before he’d arrived….

Then perhaps this was where she had gone.

“Did Iseult det Midenzi pass through this…this door?” Aeduan asked, his mouth suddenly dry. The absurdity of speaking to an animal no longer mattered, and he was certain that it was more than a mere bird. Mere birds definitely couldn’t nod this convincingly.

It was decided at that moment. He had to follow. He had to go through this odd, mysterious doorway if he was to have any hope of finding her.

He bent down to scoop up the taler and, squaring his shoulders, prepared to walk through the blue glowing entrance. At the last possible moment, the rook took flight yet again and landed on Aeduan’s forearm. It seemed that he would not be traveling alone, even if he had no idea who his company was.

He passed through a seemingly endless tunnel of darkness, the bird clacking its beak in a way that severely tested his patience. When he finally came out on the other side, it was to a world of biting winds and almost blinding white snow. The scene was familiar, but different somehow. He could tell that he wasn’t in the Sirmayans anymore.

Aeduan wrapped his cloak tighter around himself. “Where have you taken me?” he muttered.

The rook only cawed, using its beak to point forward.

It wasn’t long until he came across a cave that seemed to be a decent shelter from the mounting snowstorm. He was about to scan it for threats before going inside when he smelled blood-scents at the outside of his range. Unfamiliar ones, at that—one that smelled like sharpened knives and innocence, one like ink and ancient secrets, one like wild freedom and gales in a storm, and two like variations of saltwater and pure rain.

And…Empress Vaness of Marstok? The Fury?

At the final blood-scent, Aeduan scrambled up the nearest pine tree so he could eavesdrop on any important conversations and still remain hidden. The bird flew off at the movement, and didn’t return. Eventually the people came into view.

“I think we’re in the Orhin Mountains,” a dark-skinned girl with braids declared, glancing around at their surroundings. “This must be where the other door took us.”

The man with the blood-scent of gales in a storm—was he Prince Merik? —tripped as he walked, falling into a woman who closely resembled him. “B-but Ryber, that’s in Cartorra.”

“Yes, sir,” agreed the boy who smelled of innocence. His hand was clutched to his chest and wrapped in a bandage. “But these doors, see? They’re connected, and they go all across the Witchlands. Ryber taught me about ‘em.”

The first girl—Ryber—was supporting a large man with blond hair walking just as unsteadily as the Nubrevnan prince. It was the Fury, it had to be, but he didn’t look like he had before. He seemed like he was a normal person now, with no hint of uncontrolled rage.

Aeduan leaned forward so that he could see better, and in his complete idiocy, he forgot how high up he was. This led to silent scrabbling for purchase on a tree where there was none to be had, and finally he slipped on a patch of ice that had spread onto the pine branches. It was a highly undignified sequence of events that quickly became an awkward tumble in which he—by some twisted luck—landed upright, his right foot hitting the forest floor first.

A jolt of white-hot pain shot up his ankle and he collapsed, falling to the ground. He immediately knew the bone was broken, and for a moment he just lay there berating himself for how foolish he had been. There was, understandably, a good amount of commotion as a stranger dropped down from a pine tree in the middle of their group.

Dimly, he heard shocked exclamations and curses. A hand touched his shoulder. “Are you all right?” Ryber asked worriedly. “Who are you, and what were you doing up there?”

Aeduan pushed himself up off the ground, knocking her hand away roughly. So simple a motion still managed to jostle his foot and he sucked in a sharp breath to avoid making a sound. He considered himself to have a remarkably good pain tolerance, but he had only broken a bone once before—in Carawen training with Lizl—and he had since forgotten how it felt. Anything below his right knee felt like it was on fire.

“I did not give you permission to touch me,” he snarled, fighting to keep his voice even. He couldn’t bring himself to try and stand just yet.

“You’re the Bloodwitch who was on my ship,” Empress Vaness noted, not seeming to care that he had just fallen twenty feet.

Silence reigned in the forest for what felt like an eternity. Then it was explosive.

“A _Bloodwitch_?”

“They’re not real!”

“Why was a Bloodwitch on your ship?”

At least Ryber wasn’t interrogating him and was dutifully trying to help him up without touching him in the process. Eventually, Aeduan swallowed his pride and took her hand, letting her pull him to his feet. The world spun around him, the sensation of dizziness only worsening when he made the stupid decision of trying to put weight on his foot. Darkness pressed in at the corners of his vision as he fell into Ryber, gasping in pain.

“What’s wrong with him?” the boy asked, sounding worried.

“I think his ankle is broken; not surprising, given how far he fell. Now, if we can get you inside this cave—we were going inside anyway for shelter—I’ll see what I can do to help. And what were you all saying about a Bloodwitch?”

Prince Merik, his face covered in scars, stepped forward shakily. He and the blond man were both wrapped up in thick cloaks but still shivering. “_He_ is a Bloodwitch,” he announced, pointing accusingly at Aeduan. “We can’t risk being around him.”

Ryber, her arms awkwardly holding Aeduan up, didn’t seem at all fazed by this information. “And? What do you expect him to do, kill us? He’d have nowhere to go. If you think he’s going to be walking around like this, you’re mistaken.”

“Don’t the legends say that Bloodwitches can heal themselves?” Merik frowned. “In any case, he can’t be trusted. He was tracking down Safi and Iseult—”

“Iseult?” Aeduan asked breathlessly, adjusting his position so he was facing the prince but still able to be supported by Ryber. The maneuver was agonizing, but it was infinitely preferable to lying helplessly on the ground. “Where is she?”

_Find me._

_Always._

“I don’t know where Iseult is,” Ryber said calmly, helping him drape an arm over her shoulders so he could get to the cave. The snowstorm was intensifying, and it was getting harder to see the rest of the group. “And I don’t know why you want to find her either, but for now we have to get out of the storm. Kullen, Merik, you both are probably dangerously close to hypothermia as it is, and this kind of cold isn’t good for anybody. Not to mention we’ve got to get that broken ankle set.”

Merik didn’t look at all happy about it, and neither did the woman who looked like him—who, come to think of it, was probably Princess Vivia—but Ryber led him inside the cave anyway and the rest followed. Aeduan could tell his Bloodwitchery was beginning to work at his ankle, using up much of the energy he needed to stay conscious. Everyone was looking blurry around the edges, and his movements were clumsy. He couldn’t say no to Ryber if he tried when she helped him lie back against the wall of the cave—and besides, he wouldn’t have wanted to. These people could help him find Iseult.

As his witchery began to knit the bone back together, waves of exhaustion came over him and he knew he wouldn’t be awake much longer. Ryber leaned over, her lips moving, but he couldn’t make out words. All he could focus on were her eyes. Familiar.

“Your eyes are silver,” Aeduan mumbled. “Like hers. My mother’s.”

Those silver eyes widened. She looked hopeful, and maybe even excited. “Your mother was a Sightwitch? What was her name?”

He had no idea why he told her, but the feel of the name on his tongue was the last thing he remembered before the darkness swallowed him whole. “Eridysi.”

After the fifth argument between Safi and Caden over who knew the correct way to go, it was finally accepted that no one, in fact, knew the correct way to go. Neither of them had been in the Orhin Mountains recently enough to remember detailed directions within the range, let alone in the middle of a thrice-damned blizzard. 

But at least Safi was back with her Threadsister again—Iseult walked beside her, head ducked against the bitterly cold wind. Snowflakes whipped into their faces with every step, and they would have to find some kind of shelter soon. It was too frigid to be out in the elements.

Not long after they’d started to head for the Grieg estate, Safi had begun to shiver uncontrollably. It only got worse once the snow started, soaking through the thin silk dress that she’d been forced to wear for Vaness’s birthday celebration. Once it got to that point, Caden had insisted that she take his cloak since he had a full uniform on beneath it and she had only the gown. She wanted to protest, but she knew it wasn’t worth dying over. _I know you think ignoring some kind of victory. It isn’t. Trust me, it will only hurt you more in the long run._ He’d been right then, and he was right now.

They could barely see anymore, and Safi was just beginning to worry when Lev came back from scouting ahead. Her face was red from the wind and her hand cupped in front of her mouth to warm her breaths. “Bad news and good news!” she yelled over the gusts.

“Bad news first,” Caden replied, looking prepared for the worst.

“Well, Commander, you two geniuses have led us back to _exactly_ where we started by the doorway. I don’t know how you spent your childhood, but you must have gotten lost all the time.” She shook her head. “Good news—there’s a cave ahead we can stay in while we wait out the storm.”

Leopold tightened his coat. “G-good enough for me.”

Safi had no idea how they had both made so many mistakes that now they were back where they’d started, but she knew that the others wouldn’t let them live it down—especially Lev, who was already grinning at the prospect of teasing them for it. Caden cracked a smile and muttered something about not having been in the Orhins for a while before continuing toward the cave.

She didn’t know what she expected, but she certainly didn’t expect there to be any other people inside.

Apparently they hadn’t been the only unfortunate souls wandering through the mountain range in the middle of a snowstorm; once Safi got inside and away from the almost painful wind, a quick headcount revealed there to be seven people sitting down to wait out the blizzard. She didn’t even register all of them before her eyes lit on one man wrapped tightly in a thick cloak with scars all over his face.

Merik Nihar.

Safi ran to him, dropping down beside him, her heart pounding. “How could you have gotten here? How is this possible?”

“Safi!” he exclaimed, reaching out to touch her cheek with a hand that was as cold as she felt. “You—how are _you_ here? You were in the Sirmayans—”

“So were you—”

“You won’t believe me, but there was a glowing blue door that led us here—”

“We went through it too!” Her jaw was hanging open—what were the odds of him being here at the same time as them? “Wait, who did you come here with?” For the first time, she looked around at the others. A quick glance to her left suggested that Iseult, at first distracted by the reunion, was doing the same.

There was a woman who looked a lot like Merik—she had to be Vivia, although it was beyond reasoning why the siblings would be here together if they hated each other. Beside her was an unfamiliar dark-skinned woman with white braids and a boy that Safi recognized as being from Merik’s crew. Kullen Ikray was huddled up in a heavy coat like the prince was, and there…there was the empress of Marstok.

“Vaness! You’re alive!”

“Yes,” she replied with a graceful half-smile. “Princess Vivia found me and helped me out of the mountain.”

Vivia nodded once, humor twinkling in her eyes. “Don’t give me too much credit, Your Imperial Majesty. With your height, you weren’t very hard to carry.”

Safi saw the promise of death in Vaness’s eyes, so she turned away before she’d have to witness the murder of a Nubrevnan princess. Ryber was the seventh person she had seen, but she must have missed one, since she was kneeling beside an unconscious figure. A very familiar unconscious figure, who had chased them across the Witchlands.

“The Bloodwitch!” Safi surged to her feet. “What’s he doing here?”

“What?” Iseult said in a much calmer voice, her gaze still fixed on the empress. When she looked around and saw the Bloodwitch, her whole countenance changed and she crossed the cave in just a few long steps. “What’s wrong with him?” she asked Ryber, the closest one. “What happened?”

Had her Threadsister gone crazy? Why did she _care_ what had happened to him when the bigger worry was why he was here in the first place? He had probably given her blackmail to make her stay with him anyway, and he was a ruthless mercenary. Not someone deserving of the anxiety in Iseult’s eyes as she waited for an answer.

“He’s all right,” Ryber promised, her tone low and respectful. “He broke his ankle, and I think his Bloodwitchery was using too much power for him to stay awake. But he should come to before long.” She eyed Iseult. “He’ll be glad when he wakes up. As soon as Merik said your name, he started acting differently and asking where you were.”

“Iseult,” Leopold called. “You didn’t tell me that he would be coming back.” Owl, who had been standing at the Cartorran prince’s side, saw the Bloodwitch and her eyes widened. The girl immediately joined Iseult.

Safi cursed aloud—it didn’t seem like anyone wanted to tell her what in the world was going on. “Can somebody explain what the rut is going on?” she demanded. “This man tried to kill us multiple times. He _completely_ ruined our lives!” 

“I thought that was me,” Caden murmured, smirking. She smacked him on the shoulder.

“Saf,” Iseult said from the floor of the cave, “he isn’t what you think he is. We were traveling together for a little while, and—and I owe him life-debts. More than one.”

Ryber clasped her hands together reverently. “Besides, he can give us so many answers. Answers we’ve been searching for for years.”

_Just how much have I missed?_ Apparently, quite a bit. The murderous Bloodwitch wasn’t actually murderous after all? If that was true, why had he tried to kill people?

At that moment, he began to stir, his pale blue eyes fluttering open. “Iseult?” he said quietly, blinking as he focused on the person beside him.

“Aeduan,” she responded, and that was when Safi knew something was going on. They were on a first-name basis. He had called her _Iseult_. She had called him _Aeduan_. It seemed impossible that they would know each other well enough for that.

“That’s it,” Safi announced, sitting back down and making a gesture as if ready for a long story. “I want to hear everything.”

Merik nudged her with his shoulder. “So do I. What happened to you?”

Soon everyone was on the floor of the cave, the merciless snow pounding at its walls, and Ryber spoke up. “I’ll go first,” she began, glancing at the Bloodwitch. “It all started for me when my Threadsister was Summoned and I found the diary of Eridysi Gochienka.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will involve some interesting revelations about Aeduan's past...


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As stories begin to be told, Aeduan learns about his own past and the things about his mother he has never been told. Other characters catch up and reveal things that shock the rest of the group as secrets are shared and plans are changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is solely from Iseult's POV, but the next one will be split between Aeduan and Merik. Hope you enjoy!

Iseult could not believe this was happening—she was in a cave with so many of the people she knew and so many of the ones she didn’t, the concentration of Threads almost overwhelming her vision. Ironic then, wasn’t it, that the person closest to her did not have any Threads at all?

By the Moon Mother, it was hard to fathom that Aeduan could be sitting beside her, so close that their shoulders were touching. Her breath had caught in her throat as he mumbled her name, those achingly familiar eyes looking up into her own with soft recognition.

She realized that Ryber was already talking, and in her distraction, Iseult hadn’t heard a word of it. _Stasis. Stasis in your fingers and toes._ With effort, she tried to focus.

“—until all of the Sightwitches were Summoned except for me,” Ryber was saying, addressing the whole of her audience. “I started to have dreams that Tanzi and the others needed help, so I broke the rules and went to search for them. That was when I met Kullen; he’d somehow gotten into the convent.”

“Which, apparently, was forbidden,” he spoke up, raising his pale hand with a flourish. “Honestly, I’m probably lucky that she refused to kill me.”

Ryber laughed. “I had already broken the rules once. But then when the shadow wyrms attacked, he saved my life, so I decided I would keep him around. That’s really the only reason.”

“Liar.” If Kullen’s assertion wasn’t enough to prove she hadn’t told the truth, then the scarlet Heart-Thread curling between them certainly was. “I told you before, Ryberta Fortsa, you took me with you because you think I’m charming.”

She took his hand with a smile. “As I was saying, I found Tanzi and the others eventually, but they were trapped in the sleeping ice. That’s when I found Eridysi’s diary and deck of cards.” She turned to look at Aeduan. “But I do have some questions about the diary.”

He frowned. “What questions?”

“Well, whatever happened to the girls?” Ryber asked, leaning forward as if eager for an answer.

“What girls?” Aeduan sounded confused. “I don’t understand how I can answer questions about a diary I haven’t read.”

She gave him an odd look. “Lisbet and Cora, of course. Wait—they _were_ freed at some point, weren’t they? Surely they aren’t still there?”

Iseult watched this exchange with mounting interest—Ryber’s Threads were coral with admiration, and Aeduan looked thoroughly perplexed by her sincere attention and spoken nonsense. “Who are Lisbet and Cora? Why are you asking me these things? Does this have something to do with how you reacted when I mentioned my mother? Being related to a person with a now-common name does not give me authority on _Eridysi Gochienka’s_ diary.”

Ryber’s eyes widened. “Oh, by the Goddess. Do you mean you don’t know?”

“You are the only person here who does,” Lev cut in, shrugging when everybody turned their attention to her.

The Sightwitch bit her lip in thought, as though deciding how to phrase what was to come. Finally, she blurted out: “It may be a common name now, but your mother was not _named_ for the famous Eridysi—she _is_ the famous Eridysi. Lisbet and Cora are your sisters.”

Absolute silence fell over the cave. Iseult could have sworn that even the wind let up for a fraction of a moment. Then Aeduan laughed, a shocked and incredulous sound that conveyed great fear for Ryber’s sanity. “You do realize you’re saying my mother was alive one thousand years ago,” he said, nothing in his voice suggesting that he had any chances of believing her. “She couldn’t possibly be the person you are thinking of.”

“Sightwitches don’t have children,” Ryber explained earnestly, “because men are not allowed in the convent at all. To trespass is to die. And yet, Eridysi recorded in her diary a relationship between her and a general for the Rook King—a general who had two daughters left behind by a dead wife. Eridysi took in the girls and taught them in the Sightwitch convent, and each month on the full moon, the general was allowed to visit. Here—” she pulled out a battered book and skimmed through the pages, finally getting to what she wanted— “this is what she wrote about him.”

Aeduan leaned over to whisper in Iseult’s ear. “She’s mad, utterly mad. Look at her. She truly believes this nonsense.”

Ryber cleared her throat and read from the page. “_He smiled then—an expression I’ve never seen him wear. And though it was a sad smile, for grief still weighs heavy and likely always will, it was a smile all the same. One that eased the tired lines creasing around his eyes. Beautiful eyes. Brown in some lights, bright green in others. How have I not noticed before? Then he said, ‘I have missed you.’ I know he spoke to Lisbet at his waist and to Cora, who danced circles around him. Of course he spoke to his girls. Yet he looked at me as he uttered those words, and fool that I am, I did not look away. Instead, I dared to pretend, for half a heartbeat, that the words were meant for me. Even now, hours later, I cannot forget them. And I cannot forget his eyes_.”

Leopold smiled easily. “A very poetic and romantic description.” This earned him an exasperated nudge from Safi and an eye-roll from Caden.

“My point is that they later fell in love and Eridysi got pregnant,” Ryber went on, closing the book. “In fact, Lisbet was the one who told her she was with child—the Sight was strong in her—and she said that she’d have a brother one day, but she wouldn’t get to meet him for ‘a very long time.’ Then there was the attack of the Exalted Ones, but you all know what happened then. The important thing is that Lisbet told Eridysi and the general that they all had to go into the sleeping ice until it was time for them to be woken up again. It would preserve them and keep them alive until that day.”

She was getting visibly excited now. “So that’s what they did; they went into the sleeping ice and she left her diary behind so that I could find it—it was another of Lisbet’s predictions. I know it sounds impossible, but it’s all true. I _know_ that it’s true.”

“This is absurd,” Aeduan said, but he was starting to look a little unsure. “You do honestly believe that my parents were—”

Vivia interrupted. “I’m tired of this debate. Ask questions or don’t, and move on.”

“Simple test,” Ryber suggested. “I’ll just ask you a few things. Your mother—silver eyes, medium height, blond hair?”

“Yes.”

“Your father—amalej, black hair, hazel eyes, pale skin?”

“Yes.”

“Has he ever been referred to as ‘General’ or alluded to a history in the military?”

“Y-yes.”

“What’s his name and where is he now?”

“His name is Ragnor and he is the Raider King of Arithuania.”

“Wait, _what_?” Vivia demanded, her eyes wide.

Iseult was finding it hard to keep up with the conversation. Ryber was firing one question after another with the attitude of a person who has already won, and Aeduan was looking more vulnerable with every “yes” he gave. Apparently, though, she had one final question.

“Is your mother nicknamed Dysi, and where is _she_ now?”

Aeduan flinched, presumably at the present tense. Iseult admittedly knew very little of his past life, but she had assumed that he was an orphan until she learned that his father was the Raider King. After that, she hadn’t given any thought to his mother or who she might be—or if she was still alive. “She…yes, Dysi was what people called her,” he managed. “And she’s gone.”

Ryber’s jaw dropped. “Gone? As in…dead? Eridysi Gochienka is dead?”

“Yes.” His voice was hoarse, and he didn’t elaborate or explain how she had died. The haunted look in his eyes was enough to tell Iseult—and probably everybody else who was watching—that it hadn’t been pleasant. “And what…what were you saying about Lisbet and Cora? They were—”

“Well, do you believe me about your mother?” Ryber asked, still looking shocked that Eridysi was dead.

“She’s telling the truth, if it helps,” Safi added.

Aeduan’s face was pale, but he slowly nodded. “I-I believe you.”

“Then you have two half-sisters,” she said bluntly. “I have no idea what happened to them if they didn’t get out of the ice when your parents did, but I’m sure they’re alive. Though…they were very young when they first slept, and now how old are you?”

“Twenty.”

A slow smile spread across her face. “Then Lisbet and Cora were born more than a thousand years before you were, and you’re still their older brother.”

Merik blinked. “I didn’t even know this was possible.”

“What you don’t know could fill a book, Merry,” Vivia drawled, earning a snicker from Stix as the former first mate scooted a bit closer to the princess. Vivia, her Threads pink with giddiness, looked very pleased with herself.

“In any case,” Ryber continued, “I’ve been trying to solve the mystery of Paladins and heal the Sleeping Goddess, as I’m meant to do.” She sat back as if waiting for another person to take over and start talking.

Safi shrugged and began her own story. “I made a deal with Vaness that I would help her root the traitors out of her court in exchange for the Marstoks opening up trade with Nubrevna—”

“_What_?” Merik gasped, his Threads turquoise with surprise. “You did that? Why?”

Vaness rolled her eyes. “Why else? Honestly, the idiocy I am surrounded by….”

“In any case, we were traveling back to Marstok when we got captured by these Hell-Bards here.” Safi gestured to Caden, Lev, and Zander. “They bound us but before we could be sent to Henrick, Baedyed pirates attacked us and we decided to work together for the time being. Long story short, we all became friends and now we’re trying to free my uncle from execution. He’s set to be hanged for treason against the emperor because he helped me escape the marriage.” She glanced at the entrance to the cave—Iseult did the same, finding that the blizzard had stopped and now only small flakes of snow drifted lazily across the landscape.

“But what with the storm, we can’t seem find our way to the Grieg estates,” Caden confessed. “Safi and I might have grown up here, but it’s been awhile since we’ve visited. Besides, you try to find anything in this weather.”

Lev raised a hand. “I was going to try,” she reminded him. “But no, you and the domna had to fight it out yourselves over who knew better.”

“Just—” Caden sighed, probably since there was no plausible defense against a true statement. “Just shut up.”

Nobody seemed to be volunteering to speak up next, so Iseult relayed everything that had happened to her since Lejna. Certain details she left out, like Aeduan telling her _Mhe varujta_ or making wishes on fireflies by the pond, while she simply avoided topics like why she went back for him in the Contested Lands. Owl listened to the story raptly even though she knew most of it, nodding along and curling up beside Aeduan in what must have been a more comfortable position than the one she’d been in before.

“So you’re a Weaverwitch?” Cam asked, sounding awed.

“Yes, though I’ve only cleaved that one person and it was only because I had to.” _I am not going to do it again unless the stakes are that high_. “But I guess everything else was straightforward enough, and—”

Vivia cut in. “Wait,” she said, pointing at Aeduan. “Why did you go against your father’s orders? I would’ve expected you to obey, not to run away from the Raider King before the attack on the monastery.”

He blinked. “I’m a Carawen monk—we pledge our souls, our Aethers, to protecting the Cahr Awen with our lives.” He nodded toward Safi and Iseult. “I could hardly find it in myself to join an attempt to kill half of the Cahr Awen I’m supposed to serve. Besides, I owe Iseult life-debts that I couldn’t pay if she were dead.”

Aeduan told the lie so convincingly that even Iseult almost believed it, despite the fact that they both knew they’d stopped counting debts at this point. Surely Safi, as a Truthwitch, wasn’t fooled either, but she didn’t say anything. Yet.

“I suppose so.” Vivia tucked her feet underneath her legs and shivered. “Gods, it’s so cold in these blighted mountains.” Stix tried to offer up her coat, but Vivia waved her aside, blushing furiously. 

“You’re right,” Caden said, curling his hands into fists, presumably to warm up his fingers.

Safi frowned and began to take off the cloak she was wearing. “Here, you should have this back—”

“No, Safi.” He leaned over to re-adjust the fabric around her shoulders. “I was just making a comment, you stubborn idiot, and I’m sure all of us are cold, but you need this more than I do.”

“Why are you wearing his cloak?” Merik asked, his Threads glowing with clay red annoyance.

Seeing that it had made him upset, Safi then did something typical of herself and fastened the cloak more tightly, snuggling deep into the folds. “Because it was Vaness’s idea to have me wear a ridiculously impractical silk dress to her birthday celebration, and I didn’t have time to change clothes before we had to run for our lives.” She ended with a long string of creative and colorful curses that revolved heavily around Merik’s stupidity.

“How absurd,” Leopold noted, absently fussing with his collar. “There is _always_ time to change clothes before doing something.”

Aeduan sighed, and somehow that exhale managed to convey all the irritation in the world. “Your Highness, why are you even here? You don’t have magic and you don’t have practical skills, and frankly, there is no way you can help us accomplish anything.”

“I’m wounded!” He put a hand to his heart in mock horror. “Iseult, tell him how useful I’ve been to you.”

“You’ll have to enlighten me.” Iseult’s tone was dull and flat—she was only barely more impressed by the Cartorran prince than Aeduan was. “All you’ve accomplished so far was showing me the sky ferry and stealing a book for me.”

Leopold grinned, an action strangely in harmony with his Threads. “But it was your favorite book, yes?”

Now _she_ sighed. “That doesn’t make it any more useful.”

“Well, I hate to interrupt,” Merik said in a tone that suggested he did not hate to interrupt. “But we still haven’t all said what’s happened to us, or made plans to go from here.”

“So start saying something,” Vivia told him sardonically. “There isn’t any use in recognizing a problem if you’re just going to avoid it.”

Merik glared at her. “Fine! Cam’s older brother Garren snuck onto my ship and—”

“What terrible security you must have,” Vaness noted.

He made an irritated noise in the back of his throat and kept taking. “And he tried to kill me, but I survived, but then he made the ship explode, and—”

A noise from outside drew Iseult’s attention—muffled enough so that she couldn’t tell quite what it was, but loud enough that she could still perceive it. “Do you hear that?” she asked quietly.

Aeduan nodded, and the others murmured their agreements.

“It sounds close,” Ryber noted. “I don’t like that.”

“One or two of us should go and see what it is,” Stix proposed. “You know, just to scout and make sure everything’s fine.”

Iseult stood up, gripping the hilt of her cutlass. “I’ll go,” she volunteered, knowing that she would be able to hold her own against almost anything that could be out there. She was about to leave when Aeduan stood too, testing his weight on his newly-healed ankle and then stepping forward.

“I’ll come with you,” he said casually, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that didn’t match his ordinary words. “In case there are patrols and you need backup.”

“A-all right,” she replied, leading the way into the now-tranquil world of ice and snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will hopefully be up before long, and no, I wouldn't be too worried about the noise they heard if I were you. Most of the next chapter will basically be Iseult and Aeduan making up for the moment that the raiders ruined by the Origin Well in Bloodwitch. ;) Please leave kudos or comments if you enjoyed it!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While scouting for the source of a disturbance outside, Aeduan and Iseult share a private moment away from the others. I'm trying really hard to make this summary sound professional, but I just had a lot of fun writing this part ok? XD Once they return to everybody else, Iseult shares an idea that might change the lives of three certain people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear there's a LITTLE bit of plot in this chapter and it wasn't JUST an excuse to write Aeduan and Iseult. Okay. It was kind of an excuse. I hope you enjoy it!

As soon as he stepped outside, Aeduan was greeted by a flapping of wings and the sight of a rook circling down toward where they stood. It kept coming closer until Iseult darted aside, looking startled, but he stayed where he was. He didn’t need to sense the blood-scent to know it was the same bird.

It swooped down and this time, Aeduan extended his arm so the rook could land on his wrist without reservations. He didn’t know who it was or why it was here, but he knew it was important, and that it had led him here.

“What’s going on?” Iseult asked, staring at the bird.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, “but somehow it led me here in the first place. It is important even if I don’t—” he was cut off by the rook abruptly jumping off his arm and flying directly into the cave where everyone else was staying. Shrugging because he did not question it at this point, he turned to Iseult and was silent for a long moment.

“I can’t hear anything anymore,” Iseult said, mirroring his thoughts. “It was likely caused by that crow, I suppose.”

Aeduan nodded along, but he wasn’t really hearing her. The sun had just come out after the storm, and Iseult’s hazel eyes looked almost golden in the light. Her lips were pursed as she was evidently in deep thought, and her face was as pale as the beautiful light of the Moon Mother. Unbidden, Aeduan took a step closer to her. He heard her draw in a sharp breath at the movement, but she didn’t back away.

The logical part of him, the rational part of him, knew that the others would be waiting for them inside the cave—but at the moment, the rational part of him was buried deep beneath that quickened beating of his heart, the feeling that something was constricting around his lungs that he got whenever she was too close, the feeling that shouldn’t at all be a pleasant one but he welcomed anyway. _That_ part of him said that the others could stand to wait.

_Te varuje_, Iseult had said to him after he promised that he would find her. _I trust you as if my soul were yours_.

“I was worried when you didn’t come back,” she murmured, her eyes wide and filled with an uncharacteristic amount of emotion. “I thought you might have been killed by Natan or the raiders.”

“I was held back by the abbot,” he replied, taking another step forward. One more pace and they would easily be close enough to touch. “Another monk, one on my side, killed him and I tried to fight off the rest as best as I could. When I got back, the doorway you took had closed, and I thought I would not be able to find you. Then the rook that was just here—it sounds impossible—but it led me here, and it was open again. So I came through, and….” He trailed off, knowing that the rest of the story was obvious.

She nodded slowly. “I thought as much might have happened. Still…I-I worried.”

Aeduan reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver taler that he had given her, turning the coin over in his fingers. He wanted to give it back to her, but to do it he would have to take that third step in her direction, and they were already so close to one another. He wanted to take that step, but something weighed him down and held him back. Something that felt a little like being scared.

Then Iseult met his gaze, carefully and deliberately taking one step forward and reaching out her hand. He offered the coin but instead of taking just the taler, her fingers wrapped around his hand and she didn’t let go.

“Why were you worried?” he asked, his voice scarcely louder than a whisper.

She slowly blinked, her grip briefly tightening on his hand before she let go of it without taking the taler. She didn’t step back. “Because I didn’t know what happened or how to get to you. Because…because I didn’t know what I would do if you were gone.”

Aeduan’s breath caught in his throat at those words, his pulse racing in a way that wasn’t caused by his Bloodwitchery. Something about her proximity made him feel bold and reckless, so he held up the coin attached to its cord and gestured to Iseult. “May I?”

A nearly imperceptible nod. He leaned forward and slipped the tied cord around her neck, the way that she had kept the taler before, his hands gently sliding beneath her jet-black hair to settle it into place. Even after he had the makeshift necklace in a good position, he remained still, cupping the back of her neck and looking her directly in her golden-green eyes. Thinking he might be drowning in them.

“I never got to thank you,” he whispered, not daring to glance away from her eyes. “For bringing me to the Aether Well. For saving my life.”

Iseult brought her arms up to circle around his neck in a loose embrace, not once breaking the eye contact they shared. “I believe we were interrupted before.” So quiet it was little more than a sigh.

And then Aeduan closed the distance between them, her hair wrapped around his fingers and her lips soft against his. The world was silent around them, leaving him perfectly alone with Iseult and his own heart that was wonderstruck by her. She’d been the one to help him realize that he was not a demon or a monster, the one to show him that he was capable of caring, the one to care about _him_. She had claimed his Aether in more ways than one, ever since that day by the lighthouse.

They broke apart and Aeduan gently rested his forehead against hers, listening to the sound of her breathing as his heart pounded in his chest. The air was frigid around them but he barely felt it. All he could focus on was Iseult, so close, so _devastatingly_ close to him.

“We should go back,” he finally murmured, although not without reluctance. “They’ll be worried.”

“Just a moment,” she said, pulling back enough to look him in the eyes. “I wanted to ask you about what happened with Ryber in there. How are you? It must be such a shock.”

She was right—Aeduan was still processing the fact that his parents were alive a thousand years ago and that he had two sisters who were frozen in the sleeping ice. It seemed impossible, but his instincts told him it was true. It was far too elaborate of a story for Ryber to make up.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “I’m confused and I feel lost, but I do not know how to put it into words. Surely you can see it in my Threads.”

Iseult blinked. “No,” she told him, shaking her head. “I’ve never been able to do that. You don’t have Threads, Aeduan, or at least I can’t see them if you do.”

“Wh-what?” He wasn’t sure if his stammering was caused by the temperature of the Orhins finally registering or what she had just said. He had learned a lot of things today but never had he entertained the idea that he was Threadless. “You mean—really?”

“Really,” she confirmed. “From the first day we saw each other, you haven’t had any Threads at all.”

He considered this. All this time, Iseult had never been able to tell what he was feeling as he’d assumed she could. At first this did not seem terrible, but then he recalled the day he had left her behind in Tirla. He remembered how empty her eyes had looked as he spat out the words _There is no us_, how distant they had seemed when he had told her she was a means to an end. He had hated himself for saying those things but at least thought it would be obvious he said them to protect her. But he had no Threads. Iseult had not known why he left that day. She had never known.

The breath shuddered out of him in a rough exhale and before he knew what he was doing, he had raised his hand to cradle her face, his thumb brushing the curve of her cheek. “I’m so sorry,” Aeduan said, the words pouring out of him like torrents of water from the Amonra Falls. “I’m so sorry for leaving you alone when I left Tirla. I was trying to keep you safe—I worried that my father’s men would try to kill you unless I distanced myself from you, and unless I said those things I knew you would have followed. But I thought you could see my intentions in my Threads. I never—Iseult, I never imagined you would think I meant it.”

She blinked again, her eyes staying closed for a longer moment. “There was so much I didn’t understand about that day,” she responded quietly, her cheeks pink with cold. Or perhaps something else. “I-I had to play calm for Owl’s sake, though one of the first things she said to me afterward was, ‘He will come back.’ I suppose I should have listened to her.” A smile tugged at her lips. “She always knew you so well.”

He moved his free hand to cup Iseult’s other cheek in his palm, something inside him melting at her words. “She was right,” he whispered softly, his own voice sounding even more earnest now that he knew she couldn’t see how he felt. “I was going to come back to you. Always.”

She leaned forward and he met her halfway and in what felt like a single short heartbeat, Iseult’s mouth was on Aeduan’s as they kissed again. This time there was less of the uncertainty that had bled through their actions before, and it was like they were locked in their own private eternity. Her hands slipped down from the embrace and settled just beneath his shoulder blades, pulling him closer as his fingers intertwined with her hair once more. In that long, lasting moment, there was only Iseult—her hands, her lips, her touch.

“_Te varuje_,” Aeduan said once they broke apart, enraptured and a little breathless, not thinking about the consequences of saying those words until after they had left his mouth. It was risky, he knew, to repeat such a phrase back to her, but for now he didn’t care. _I trust you as if my soul were yours_.

Her lips parted as though she were about to say something else, but then her eyes widened and she focused on something behind Aeduan. Or, now that he cast out with his senses, _someone_ behind him—someone that, judging by their blood-scents, was one of the Hell-Bards. He immediately took a few steps back from Iseult, watching as she did the same, busying himself by trying to appear that he was searching through the trees.

Caden stepped into sight, his hand resting over the hilt of his sword as he scanned his surroundings for immediate threats. Then he looked back over at Aeduan and Iseult, relaxing his grip on the weapon. “I wanted to make sure you hadn’t run into anything dangerous,” he explained, gesturing to the cave entrance. “You’ve been out here longer than we expected.”

“We were trying to find the source of the sound we heard earlier,” Aeduan said quickly—maybe too quickly, but Iseult had a habit of stuttering when she was flustered and as far as Caden knew, there was no reason to be flustered. “I think it’s stopped now.”

“It might have been that bird,” the Hell-Bard mused, shrugging. “This rook flew into the cave just a few minutes ago, and Ryber and Kullen are treating it like it’s really important somehow.” He shook his head in annoyance. “Well, if there aren’t any threats out here, we can go back.”

Iseult nodded, but she looked distracted, like she was barely paying attention to what he said. She stared intently at Caden—no, _beside_ Caden, as though she suddenly found his Threads to be fascinating. Her eyes were far away, perplexed, clearly thinking about something of great importance.

“What is it?” he asked warily, and rightly so. It was rare for her to betray what she felt so openly, and now she was obviously deep in thought of his Threads.

She blinked, then refocused. “Let’s go back,” she said slowly, “and once we are all together again, I have something to say. An idea.”

Aeduan had no idea what to make of that, and the selfish part of him wanted to stay out here alone with Iseult a little longer, but he knew it was a stupid wish and that they had to make plans. Besides, the snowstorm might be over, but it was still too frigid for it to be safe to stand motionless for any extended period of time. Iseult’s face was flushed with cold and without his cloak, Caden was already shivering.

“All right,” Aeduan replied, taking a step back to the cave. “The others will likely be worried.”

Merik was not worried. At this point, Safi was starting to glance outside often to check for Iseult, a frown twisting her lips in concern, while Lev and Zander had already been vocal about not wanting to let Caden go alone. As for Merik, and probably most of the others, he trusted that they could take care of themselves and until something were to happen that proved otherwise, he assumed they were safe. It was only logical for them to be. It was _not_ logical, however, for nobody to be listening to him while he tried to tell his story.

After all, he had listened in almost complete silence while the others explained what had happened to them while everyone was separated, and now nobody but Ryber and Cam would bestow him the same damned courtesy. A simple sentence about Pin’s Keep was interrupted by Leopold craning his neck to try and see Iseult, and an explanation of what happened to Kullen was interrupted by Lev standing up to go after Caden. Finally, when Vivia quite literally tried to begin a casual conversation with Stix in the middle of Merik speaking, he gave up and decided to wait until the others came back. His instinct was to snap at his sister, but after everything that had happened with Esme, he didn’t want to start an argument with his allies.

As it turned out, he didn’t have to wait long at all. Within the minute, the others had returned, looking perfectly unharmed. Aeduan’s eyes focused on the Rook (Ryber had assured them that was his name), who refused to be separated from Kullen. Iseult nodded in confirmation to her Threadsister that she was all right, and Caden did the same to Zander.

Iseult opened her mouth but before she could say anything, Safi abruptly stood up and took off the cloak, shoving it at Caden. “_Take_ this,” she demanded. “I’ve had it for a while, and not only is it yours to begin with, but you must be absolutely freezing.”

Merik was enough of an expert in stubbornness to know that Caden wanted badly to refuse, but was too cold to actually do it. He accepted the cloak and wrapped it tightly around himself, pointedly not meeting Safi’s gaze.

“Oh, yes,” Lev said, rolling her eyes. “Always nice to see you two taking care of each other because you can’t be bothered to take care of yourselves.”

“So Ryber,” Stix interjected, gesturing to Kullen and the bird, “what’s this about the Rook?”

Ryber smiled. “He’s been a companion of the Sightwitch sister convent for many centuries, and very little is understood about him. He won’t answer to anything but the Rook—the _the_ is very important—and he definitely understands human speech, though he can’t speak. Ever since the beginning, he’s been partial to Kullen.”

“Is that—no,” Safi muttered, looking a little pale. “That’s not possible. I’ve seen a similar-looking bird more than once now, and they were acting sentient each time. It even helped me find one of the magical doorways. But…it couldn’t be the same bird.”

“It probably is,” Ryber said.

Aeduan nodded in agreement. “I saw it—him—once before in the Contested Lands and then earlier today, when he led me here.”

Suddenly, without warning, the Rook took off from Kullen’s arm and flew directly at Stix, making her lurch to the side, startled enough that she nearly fell over. Vivia steadied her, hands lingering a little over the captain’s shoulders before yanking her fingers back as though having been caught at something she wasn’t supposed to do. But the Rook wasn’t attacking—he merely landed on Stix’s wrist and began to caw at her with just as much plain adoration as he had shown Kullen. Stix laughed nervously, but she finally brought the bird a bit closer in spite of her obvious misgivings.

“He seems to like me,” she exclaimed, another delighted laugh escaping her.

“I have a theory about that,” Ryber answered eagerly. “About why he’s drawn to you and Kullen. But I’ll explain after—Iseult, I think you were going to say something?”

Iseult nodded, looking a little nervous but somewhat excited also. “Yes, well, I-I’d never considered this before, not until just now when Caden went outside to find us. It might not be the way I think it is, and I apologize in advance if I’m thinking about this the wrong way, but—”

“Iz,” Safi interrupted. “Just tell us what it is.”

She bit her lip and then blurted it out. “I think that there is a way I can heal the Hell-Bards.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can already tell I'm going to make myself emotional writing the next chapter. I can't help it - I do love the Hell-Bards and they deserve everything. Hopefully the next update will be soon!


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iseult attempts to use her Weaverwitch abilities to heal the Hell-Bards and free them from the half-life they have been cursed to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like this chapter! I wanted to make the scene with the Hell-Bards emotional and I think I've succeeded. Don't you worry, there's some Vix hinting as well!

“No,” Caden said flatly. “It’s not possible.”

And Safi was inclined to agree. While she wanted as much as anybody for Caden, Lev, and Zander to be freed from their curse, she doubted there was any way to restore what had been taken away from them.

Lev nodded, equally subdued for all she had been playful earlier. “He’s right. There’s no undoing this.”

Zander mumbled a similar sentiment, though he looked touched that Iseult had thought of it.

“But I do think there’s a way,” Iseult persisted earnestly. “I can see in your Threads what Henrick did to you, but with my abilities as a Weaverwitch, I might be able to—”

“Listen,” Caden interrupted, not in a way that suggested he was angry but merely one that showed he was tired. So, so tired, and his dark eyes were so haunted. “Iseult. It’s kind of you to think of that, and I appreciate the sentiment. Honestly I do. But I can promise that you can’t fix us anymore. This is our life now—or lack of it.” He laughed so bitterly that Safi found it hard to believe the sound ever conveyed amusement. When he spoke again, his voice trembled slightly. “But please—please don’t give me false hope. It can’t happen. It just can’t.”

Iseult blinked, her nose twitching the way it did whenever she was bothered by something. Safi, too, was made upset just by watching how hopeless the Hell-Bards had become. It wasn’t fair that they were forced to be like this.

“Will you at least let me explain?” her Threadsister asked calmly. “So that if it _is_ impossible, I will know why?”

Caden closed his eyes and waved for her to go ahead.

“When I look at a person, I can see their Threads, but beyond just that I can see where they are tied to the weave,” Iseult began. “It’s difficult to explain because none of you can see it, but that’s how cleaving works—when I cleaved a Firewitch, I consciously severed his Threads from the weave so that it would kill him. But when I look at the three of you”—she gestured to Caden, Lev, and Zander— “some of yours are already severed. Enough have been kept intact so that you can perform the tasks your emperor wants you to, but you are not technically alive. For that to happen, your Threads would have to be tied to the center of the weave.”

Aeduan nodded slowly in understanding. “You want to try to physically bind their Threads to the world of the living, so that they don’t need the noose to stay alive. And if they don’t need the noose to stay alive, then they would not need to obey Henrick…is that possible? Could you do that?”

“I don’t see why I couldn’t,” Iseult said. “If a Threadwitch can tie people’s binding Threads to a stone, then surely a Weaverwitch can tie people’s life Threads to the weave itself. It isn’t my decision to make, but I think it might be worth a try.”

Caden leaned against the wall of the cave, indecision written on his face. “It does make more sense than I thought it would,” he admitted slowly, as though each word was painful to say. “And I suppose that it…it could work.”

Zander raised his uninjured hand. “If you tried it and it _didn’t_ work, what would happen?”

“I don’t know,” Iseult answered honestly. “It could do nothing at all, but there’s a possibility that it would react dangerously with the magic in the noose, causing….”

“Causing death,” Vaness put in flatly. “It could happen.”

There was a long silence as everyone thought this over. Safi felt like she had been hit over the head with the possible outcomes. Would it be worthwhile to risk permanent death for the chance to really live?

And then Caden stepped forward, his jaw set and with something in his eyes that looked like hunger. “Do it.”

“You could die!” Lev exclaimed, surging to her feet. “Please don’t do it, sir, or if you want to, then let me go first to see if it’s safe.”

He shook his head. “I’d gladly risk myself, but never you or Zander. If this really does work, Lev, the three of us will be free. Let me do this. Please.”

Safi melted a little to see how he appealed to his friends, not firmly asserting what he was going to do but rather pleading for them to let him try. She genuinely thought that proceeding without talking to them first would be less heartbreaking to watch.

“I don’t want to stop you, sir,” Zander whispered, his eyes sparkling. “Or…I _do_ want to, but I shouldn’t. Just—please be safe.”

Caden gave him a confident, Chiseled Cheater smile. Only in his eyes did he betray any signs of fear, and Safi could see it, but he tried to stay calm for his friends. She had to do the same. She wasn’t going to lose him. He wasn’t going to die.

He turned to Safi and his smile widened, a touch of sincerity in the fake grin, and then he nodded to Iseult, who was looking increasingly worried even as she labored not to. “A-are you sure?” she checked, showing a lot more misgivings than she’d had before. “I’ll put this plainly—I don’t think this will happen, but worst-case scenario, this could kill you.”

“I know,” he replied, taking a deep breath. “But it’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

Iseult closed her eyes and moved her lips in a quick, silent prayer. Then she focused hard on Caden, her eyes straying to just beside him where Safi assumed his severed Threads were. It was impossible to tell just what her Threadsister was doing without being a Weaverwitch, but she watched while Iseult concentrated on the task at hand, her eyes flicking back and forth as though trying to sort through the Threads. Then, cautiously, she extended her hand and curled her fingers into a fist.

The effect was instant—one moment Caden was waiting anxiously and the next he had collapsed, Lev’s lightning-fast reflexes catching him before he hit the ground. “Gods thrice-damn it, no,” she breathed, carefully lowering him down and frantically searching for a pulse. “He’s breathing!” she announced, still looking scared. “But—”

“Wait,” Iseult murmured, not looking away from his Threads. Slowly, she tightened her fist and as she did so, her eyes went distant. Familiar tendrils of shadow began to coil around Caden but instead of coalescing as they had done before, they were seeming to dissipate and melt into nothingness. They kept disappearing until all the darkness was gone, and as Iseult unfurled her fingers once more, Caden opened his eyes, gasping for breath.

“Are you all right?” Lev asked him worriedly, Zander crowding in on the other side.

“I’m not dead,” he answered dryly, then seemed to grasp what he had just said and what it meant. “I’m not dead,” he repeated, pushing up into a sitting position and glancing down at himself, seeing that he was neither harmed nor shrouded in shadow. His eyes were clear and had lost the note of pain that seemed to be constantly present in them. “I—” He trailed off, reaching out a hand that Zander took to help him stand up.

Lev rose to her feet also, her eyes wide and hopeful. “There’s…there’s only one way to find out if it worked,” she said.

Caden nodded jerkily, bringing his hand up to touch the gold chain that all Hell-Bards wore. His fingers were shaking. Finally, holding his breath, he took off the noose awkwardly and visibly braced himself for the consequences. Lev and Zander stood at the ready to catch him if he collapsed again, and everything in Safi was tense and waiting for something to happen.

But nothing did. He stood with the chain wrapped around his fingers, his eyes wild and afraid but without that typical darkness to haunt them. He didn’t crumple to the ground or experience anything that Safi had seen the other two times he took off the noose. He was all right. It took a moment for the importance of this to really sink in for Safi, and apparently for him too.

Then she saw the realization click and he turned to the side of the cave, bracing his hands against the wall and bowing his shoulders. At first Safi panicked, but then she realized that he wasn’t reacting because of the noose or anything else related to it. He was steady on his feet and the shadows were still gone, but his breaths were quick and shuddering.

Safi went over to him and placed her hand on his shoulder gently. “Caden, are—are you crying?”

“No,” he gasped, turning around to face her and using his sleeve to dry the tears that his obvious lie didn’t hide. “No. I-I’m not.” At his assertion, her magic rang _False!_

“I could sense your lie!” she exclaimed, reveling in the novelty of the sensation. “What Iseult did…it worked!”

He covered his mouth with his hand, breathing shakily. His eyes were sparkling with tears, but the look on his face spoke plainly that they were such happy ones, freed from the noose that had bound him.

“Do you feel all right?” Iseult checked, lowering her hand.

He didn’t answer but stumbled forward and embraced her tightly as the normally stoic, charismatic Caden broke down sobbing. Iseult, looking uncomfortable with the attention, slowly wrapped her arms around him in a gesture of simple comfort. “Thank you,” he said, the words simple but his voice anything but. “_Thank you_.”

When he finally let go, he took a deep, steadying breath and looked down at the chain he was holding. It looked deceptively benign—before learning of its true purpose, Safi would never have thought it dangerous. A chain, a noose, a death sentence.

“Your Threads are whole now,” Iseult said, a slight smile playing across her lips. “You will not be able to see through glamours anymore, and you won’t be immune to other people’s magic. You’ll have to start being more cautious—”

“I don’t care.” Caden’s smile was honest, with none of the forced smoothness that was usually laced in his expressions. “Lev, Zander—” he stepped aside, allowing them to come forward before Iseult.

Zander motioned for Lev to go first, something she’d normally fight him over, but there was no point this time. No matter the order, the Hell-Bards would be freed, and nothing would be able to undo that.

The process was repeated, Iseult reaching for the Threads and tightening her fist as Lev fell into Caden, who saw it coming and caught her easily. This time when the shadows began to swirl and dance, Safi didn’t panic and merely waited for her to open her eyes, the darkness gone from Lev’s green irises. She didn’t hesitate and slipped off the noose, leaning on Caden—likely in case something went wrong this time. When it didn’t, she let out a startled laugh, her clear eyes shining with freedom. Then she laughed again, louder this time, overcome with giddiness. Rapidly, she gestured to Zander, who eagerly stepped forward for Iseult to bind his Threads to the weave.

It seemed like in no time at all, Zander too had taken off his noose and the three Hell-Bards who weren’t Hell-Bards any longer stood together. At this point Zander was in tears, Caden was still openly crying, and Lev would never admit it but Safi—and every other person in the cave—could see her hand over her eyes and hear her uneven breaths. It was enough to make Safi tear up too.

“You can’t begin to understand,” Caden told Iseult gratefully, one arm around Lev and the other around Zander. “You’ve given us our lives back. Before we were slaves of the emperor—we were already dead. You saved us. ’Thank you’ couldn’t ever be enough.”

Iseult looked uncomfortable, but Safi knew her Threadsister, and she could tell that Iz was happy.

“There were not any other side effects, were there?” Aeduan asked, directing his question towards Iseult. “Like with the Firewitch?”

“No,” she replied. “He only remained in my head because the intention was to kill him. This was the opposite.”

A look passed between them—Iseult’s eyes flickered with emotion and Aeduan’s expression softened for the briefest of moments. Then they quickly looked away, both focusing on others in the cave rather than each other.

What in the hell-gates was that about?

Vivia should have been focusing on the process by which Iseult healed the Hell-Bards, and she knew it. It was an incredible occurrence, and even she had to admit it was heartwarming to see their reactions to it being over. But if she was being honest with herself, she was paying attention to the Hell-Bards a lot less than she was Stix, who sat close beside Vivia with the Rook cuddling against her body.

So many times, Vivia had agonized over her own thoughts and decisions, even regarding Stacia Sotar. _Especially_ regarding her. It seemed that her curse was to doubt herself, but Stix was being so bold today it was difficult to find doubts. She had offered her coat when Vivia made a simple complaint of being cold, and she had definitely come closer of her own free will. 

Then why did she feel so nervous? She had wanted to be closer to Stix for what felt like forever now—why was she freezing up now that her friend was possibly making the first move?

_Too good for me._

“That bird really is attached to you,” Vivia blurted out, gesturing to the Rook on Stix’s wrist. _How poetic. Oh, Lady Baile, give me eloquence._

Stix grinned, a flash of white teeth against her dark skin. “He does—and it was the same with Captain Ikray before he saw me.” She turned to Ryber. “You said there was a reason for that?”

Ryber glanced over to where Safi, Iseult, Aeduan, and the former Hell-Bards were sitting down once more, the last three conspicuously not wearing the gold chains. “Is everyone ready to keep planning?” she asked, forever businesslike. At their nods, she went on. “After the conversation about Aeduan’s past earlier, it almost feels strange for there to be more—but Captain Sotar, you’re a Paladin.”

She snorted. “Paladins aren’t real.”

“Of course they are,” Ryber answered, returning to her original position of resting her head on Kullen’s shoulder. “Kullen is a reincarnation of a powerful Paladin, and so are you. In fact, given your witchery, I’d assume that you are Lady Baile.”

Vivia started laughing. It wasn’t appropriate, but she couldn’t stop—the build-up of stress over the past few weeks had been too much to handle, and this suggestion was what pushed her over the edge, the idea that _Stix_ was the saint to which she had just been praying for eloquence. It wasn’t possible, and what was more, it was ridiculous.

“It’s easy to tell—I’ve read Eridysi’s diaries, and everything suggests that you two are Paladins. You’re both drawn to the blade and glass, for example. And Stix, you told me about your odd experience with a statue of Lady Baile herself.” Ryber raised her eyebrows with the look of a schoolgirl being proven right.

“You can’t seriously think—” Vivia began.

Stix cut her off, staring at nothing with a pensive look on her face. “No, Viv, I do not know why, but this makes sense to me. It…it just seems right.”

Vivia blinked—not just at the words, but at the nickname that had been used in front of an audience. She waited for somebody to ask questions about it, waiting to bare her blighted insecurities until they were a gaping hole that couldn’t be closed. But nobody said anything.

“For confirmation,” Aeduan said, “you genuinely believe you are the Nubrevnan saint of grace and strength?”

“The pirates worship her too,” Safi added, fingering a scar on her thumb. “The Red Sails especially.”

Stix nodded slowly. “It sounds crazy…it feels crazy…but it feels true. Like I have somehow known all along, but never realized until now.”

Kullen laughed. “I know the feeling.”

“We’ve all been learning a lot from unexpected places, I suppose,” Merik put in. “I know so many things from my time with Esme, and—”

“Esme? You know her?” Iseult’s face was pale.

Merik nodded. “I started talking about it earlier, but I’ll start over. It started when I died in an explosion aboard my ship.”

“I beg your pardon?” Vaness interjected. “You died?”

“It’s a long story,” he said, before sitting against the wall of the cave and beginning to tell it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the next chapter will be out soon - they'll be learning a lot about Esme from Merik. Also, yes, there will be Safik! I hope you enjoyed this!


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the final stories are told and everyone is aware of what the others have gone through, Leopold proposes an idea that might be the only thing between Eron fon Hasstrel and being hanged for treason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AO3 has been acting up, so I hope all the formatting comes out normally. This is from Merik's POV. Enjoy!

It was shockingly easy for Merik to talk about everything that had happened since the _Jana _exploded, perhaps because it seemed like it had been so long ago. Surely it could not have only been weeks that passed—surely it had been much longer. It was difficult to fathom how much he had changed since that day.

Some of it was in the little things, like the way he held himself and spoke. He felt more aware of the words he was saying and more conscious of how he chose those words, and he was sure that his experiences with Cam had made him this way. Some of it was in the bigger things, like the way he looked at Iseult. Previously, when she had been aboard his ship with Safi, he had been a little intimidated of her. Not to the extent of the hatred shown by his crew, and not as dramatic as most of the people who hated Nomatsis, but uncomfortable enough by her differences. Now he didn’t find himself slipping back into that habit, and for all that Esme had put him through, he owed her at least for that.

Not to mention his view of Vivia. The sister he had once hated, who he had once thought hated _him_, was so much stronger than he imagined her to be, even if seeing her sit so closely to Stix Sotar was a little terrifying. Each of them was frightening enough on their own, but together? Merik was glad they were both on his side.

He fell into an easy pattern of relaying everything he had gone through, supported by Cam, who added in details with that almost musical way of storytelling he had. Occasionally, Vivia would chime in with explanations of what she was doing at the same time as Merik.

Finally, when he got to the part where he was captured by the Fury and Esme, Safi burst out, “Then you’re Cleaved? But you’re alive? How does that work?”

Merik shrugged, because there were things that even he still didn't know. “Esme isn’t just a Weaverwitch—she’s also a Puppeteer, and she can control the Threads of her Cleaved. She can command them and they have to obey. She forced me to gather Threadstones for her, and I think she planned to drain them of magic so she would have enough power to cleave all of the Origin Wells. Once she did that, she said, she would control all magic in the Witchlands.”

“By the Moon Mother,” Iseult whispered, looking stricken. “I had no idea she wanted to do something so extreme.”

“How do you even know her?” Merik asked. She’d mentioned Esme before, and now that he thought about it, the other girl had talked about Iseult back in Poznin. Neither had explained how the Hell they were communicating.

Her nose twitched nervously. “She speaks to me sometimes,” Iseult said, “after I’m asleep but before I wake up. In the Dreaming. She tries to convince me to join her side, to help her with whatever her goal is, but before now I never knew what her goal was. She—she was the one who taught me how to cleave.”

Aeduan frowned. “I did not know that. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“She hasn’t for a while. I would have if she tried to do it again.”

“She did try,” Merik put in, remembering the times when he’d heard Esme whispering, _Iseult, where are you? _“But she could never reach you, so I think she stopped attempting. Besides, she might be dead by now anyway.”

_That_ got everyone’s attention. “What?” Iseult asked. “What do you mean, she might be dead? What happened?”

“She was stabbed. I met a man who had once been Cleaved by her—he said he was her prisoner for four years—but by some miracle, he wasn’t any longer. The connection had broken. He had a knife, and he came up behind her and stabbed her. I didn’t see her die, though.”

“Esme is alive,” Kullen said heavily, his expression much more sober and solemn than was typical for him. “I might not have met her before, but I have the Fury’s memories now, and she would survive it somehow. I just know she isn’t dead.”

Safi groaned. “Shit. So now we’ve got yet another problem to deal with.”

“Naturally.” Vivia brought her hand to her temple, closing her eyes as though briefly overwhelmed by everything they would have to do. “And on top of that, my crown has been reclaimed.”

“Your crown has been _what_?” Stix yelped. “Your father—”

Merik’s sister nodded. “The High Council voted for him to be given back the title of King and Admiral without telling me first. Your father wasn’t even there for the meeting, probably because they knew he’d sympathize with me instead. I have no authority as a queen anymore.”

Stix, her eyes wide with indignation, reached out and took Vivia’s hand. Even exhausted and anxious, Vivia’s face lit up and she gave Stix a shy smile. “It’s my fault,” Vivia mumbled. “I should have prepared for him doing that.”

“We both should have seen it coming,” Vaness interjected, looking grave. “You did keep telling me that he was making orders behind your back and rallying soldiers to his side. It is my fault as much as it is yours.”

“But it’s his more than either of yours,” Stix said angrily, looking ready to go to war with Serafin. “What right does he _have_ to your throne? You are Nubrevna’s rightful queen, and you are the one who set up the housing program of Lovats. What is it you’re always saying? ‘Share the glory, share the blame?’ He’s not taking any blame and he’s not sharing a damned thing with you, Vivia. You have to do something about it.”

She nodded. “I will. I’m going to do my best to lead the country, but I can’t do that from the Orhin Mountains.”

And Merik found himself questioning, yet again, how he ever could have hated her.

“So what happened after Esme got stabbed?” Safi asked, leaning forward as she redirected the conversation to its original topic. Her blond hair fell over her shoulder as she spoke, tangled and wet from the snow.

“The Fury”—he looked over at Kullen apologetically— “followed me to the mountain that you were also inside. I felt a pulling to the center, to the sleeping ice, but when I saw you falling I obviously stopped to help.”

Safi snickered. “Thank you for that, by the way. I wouldn’t have enjoyed falling to my death.”

“I warned you that the bridge was narrow,” Caden cut in.

“I _knew_ the bridge was narrow, but in case you didn’t notice there was a rutting _earthquake_—”

Merik decided to intervene before they could continue going back and forth, because by the looks of it, they were perfectly inclined to do just that. “After, I had an intuition that if I went into the sleeping ice and convinced the Fury to follow somehow, then…then he’d be all right. That the magic would counter the Paladin overpowering Kullen. And it did, but then we were stuck in the ice.”

“Then how did you get out?” Safi asked, her blue eyes wide and curious.

“We’re still not sure,” Ryber answered for him, gesturing to Merik and Kullen. “We can speculate, though, and I have my own theories from my time at the Sightwitch sisters’ convent. I think that Sirmaya, the Sleeping Goddess, is so strong in the Sight that she can see the fates of those who enter the sleeping ice. Some people—like Ragnor, Eridysi, and the girls—were destined to stay there much longer, while you and Kullen were only meant to remain long enough for you to be separate from the Fury.”

Kullen gave his typical frightening grin, but there was obvious sincerity behind it. “I’m glad,” he spoke up lightly. “It’s exhausting to be possessed by a manic Paladin, but surely it’s just as bad to be frozen for years at a time.”

Aeduan cleared his throat, and Kullen fell silent.

There was a long silence only interrupted by the Rook squawking loudly and leaping off Stix’s wrist, flying back over to Kullen as though he couldn’t decide which Paladin he liked better. Then he seemed to notice the little girl curled up beside Aeduan, and he immediately flapped his way over to Owl instead. She smiled warmly like the bird was a long-lost friend.

“The real question,” Iseult said, looking around the cave at everybody assembled there, “is what do we do now?”

“We still need to save my uncle,” Safi reminded, a touch of panic entering her eyes. “He might be a terrible guardian and an irresponsible dom, but…but he helped me escape the arranged marriage, and he doesn’t deserve to die. We have to get to Praga so we can rescue him.”

Lev nodded. “And we need to get Zander help. We treated his hand as best as we could, and he’s got the Painstone, but he needs a real healer. There are surely the best ones in the capital.”

“I know the magical doors only work one way, but I can’t afford to spend too much time away from Nubrevna,” Vivia said, her voice rising almost hysterically. “I have no idea what my father is doing while I’m away, and the country is under attack. I won’t let Nubrevna fall apart just because my father has the crown again. I won’t.”

“I would say the same for my empire,” Vaness replied, “but after what happened…I doubt any person wants me back. I cannot rule over a country where everyone is trying to kill me.”

Her last sentence lay heavy across everyone. Empress Vaness of Marstok had just admitted that she couldn’t rule over her country at the moment, and it served only to show how hopeless everything had truly gotten. She was the person who held onto her confidence and dignity. Always.

“I have an idea,” Leopold announced, looking supremely pleased with himself.

“The Wells save us,” Aeduan muttered. Apparently he wasn’t impressed by the imperial prince.

“No, truly,” Leopold protested. “No person would expect _us_”—he paused, gesturing to everyone with a grand flourish— “to be working together, and we can use that to our advantage. My uncle is zealous about protecting his empire, but he won’t look at the details if we show him what he wants to see. He wants you, Safiya, and he wants to marry you for power. He wants the people who abducted you to be held responsible. So we bring you back to his palace with the ones who did it in tow as political prisoners, and he’ll think none the wiser.”

The Hell-Bards nodded along thoughtfully, Safi looked like she was considering what he said, and Aeduan appeared to be genuinely shocked that something intelligent had come out of the prince’s mouth.

“My uncle blames both the Nubrevnans and the Marstoks for Safiya’s ‘kidnapping,’” he went on, his words lyrical and flowing from syllable to syllable. “Lucky for us, then, that we’ve both Nubrevnans and Marstoks right here with us who could give concrete evidence that they conspired against Cartorra. The emperor _is _paranoid about conspirators, yes?”

Safi and the Hell-Bards, as the other Cartorrans, nodded vehemently.

“And before the Truce broke, he _was_ firmly convinced that the other countries had been plotting against him, yes?”

Another round of nods.

“So we show him what he expects to see,” Leopold continued with another flourish of his hands. “He wants his betrothed back in Praga—so Aeduan, the Hell-Bards and I will come back with his betrothed like we were ordered to. Since the Nubrevnans were the ones who took her…” He raised an eyebrow significantly, indicating that he didn’t truly believe that they were the ones who did it. “Well, you understand.”

“I don’t,” Merik said bluntly. “How will you prove that Nubrevnans took her?”

Leopold laughed. “The Nubrevnans and the Marstoks were collaborating, you see, and conspiring against the Cartorran empire for years preceding the Truce Summit. Empress Vaness pledged trade in exchange for Nubrevna’s soldiers, and they formed an unwritten alliance to defeat the Cartorrans. To begin the conflicts, they kidnapped the emperor’s bride, a Truthwitch, for their own political use.”

Merik was, frankly, stunned by the amazing lies that the imperial prince was spinning with so little time to think of them. Not only were they elaborate, but they were _convincing_. So realistic that it could have happened and the Cartorrans would never have known it.

“Naturally, the Nubrevnans who took Safiya brought her back to Lovats, which is where I was led by Aeduan to help retrieve her. When we rescued her from her kidnappers, the monk realized that this scheme was thought up by the princess of Nubrevna herself. Aeduan, with his Bloodwitch abilities, was easily able to subdue her and bring her back as a political prisoner to be tried for her crimes.”

Vivia’s hand flew to her mouth. “And if you bring me back as your political prisoner, then I—”

“Exactly,” Leopold finished, grinning broadly. “The people of Nubrevna will think you’re a hero—you risked yourself to make a powerful alliance, and you took the offensive on Cartorra so you could feed your country. King Serafin, I think, will be able to do little to quell those rumors once they’re strengthened with fact, and even if you aren’t personally there to oversee Lovats, I doubt many people will show respect to your father. _He_ wasn’t the one who attacked an empire to save Nubrevna.”

“This is brilliant,” Stix said, her eyes focused on Leopold. “But if Vivia’s taken prisoner by Henrick for a crime like that, he’ll kill her!”

The prince only smiled wider. “Immediately? He’d be a fool to, since she is hardly the only person who was a part of the plot. There was, of course, Empress Vaness involved, but we could not capture her because she was in a different country, and we were so eager to get back with Safiya. But as long as Vivia lives, Marstoks might come to rescue her, and if they do then the Cartorrans will have even _more_ traitors to question. Even _more_ proof that there was a breaking of the Truce before the document ever said so.”

Caden nodded with respect. “This…this could work.”

“Of course, not everyone would be able to reasonably get into Praga,” Iseult warned. “Stix should be able to get in fine as long as we say she’s Princess Vivia’s accomplice, but if we bring in Prince Merik, it’ll look suspicious. The same goes for Kullen, Ryber, and Cam. We can’t bring a child into something like this, and me? I’ll be a target as soon as we step into the city.” She waved a hand toward her own face, indicating her Nomatsi features.

“We’ll find a place where they can stay in hiding while we work out the finer details,” the prince suggested, looking unconcerned with the ambiguity of such a plan. “It should be relatively easy to work out a communication system so we can stay in touch, and we’ll be able to combine our efforts to release Eron fon Hasstrel before he is hanged.”

Aeduan looked amazed by the logic Leopold was displaying. “And now that the Hell-Bards are healed,” he added, “it will be easy for them to help us without gaining suspicion from Henrick. He would never believe they could betray him.”

“Would—would something happen if we put the chains back on?” Caden asked cautiously, curling his fist around the noose. “Surely he’ll notice if we aren’t wearing them.”

“I doubt there would be a problem,” Iseult said cautiously. “Now that your Threads are tied to the weave, the noose’s magic would probably not affect you. It only was so dangerous because you were, technically speaking, dead.”

He nodded, then—seemingly before he could lose his nerve—slipped the gold chain back over his head. Nothing happened, and he breathed a sigh of relief, but he still looked somber. “It doesn’t feel right,” he mumbled. “Not anymore.”

Lev and Zander followed suit so they would look like they were still bound to the emperor, though neither looked like they enjoyed having the chain back around their necks, even if it meant nothing now. Merik supposed that made sense. It could never be easy to be back within the grip of something that bound you.

Leopold rose to his feet, looking satisfied with his plan. Nearly everybody else in the cave did too, though there was still so much they didn’t know.

“Are you sure this will work?” Merik asked as Stix said, “Vivia will really be safe?”

“Absolutely,” Leopold promised. “My uncle would never kill a political prisoner before he could learn as much as he could from them first, let alone an enemy princess. Besides, by the time an execution could even happen, we should be out of the capital with Dom fon Hasstrel.”

Vivia swallowed, looking slightly worried but ready to do this for her country. She stepped up to Caden and lifted her chin with the defiant look that Merik _knew_ his sister would display to an actual kidnapper. “You’ve got yourself a political prisoner—put me in chains, then,” she ordered, and despite her words, she had never looked more like a queen. “And Bloodwitch, walk beside me so I look like a captive. Henrick needs to believe that if I tried to run, you’d knock me out with your witchery.”

Aeduan nodded in agreement while Caden bound Vivia’s wrists together. He apologized for how tight they were, but she merely rolled her eyes and muttered something about it being more believable this way.

“We’re going to make this work,” Iseult said to Safi, who was looking visibly stressed by the idea of her uncle possibly not making it out alive. “We have so many more people to help than we did before, and we can do this.”

She smiled and embraced her Threadsister before they all exited the cave into the cold mountain air. Merik was still processing everything that had happened since earlier in the day—how was it possible that they’d all found each other and come up with some semblance of logic with which they could accomplish anything at all? It seemed that the world had been turned upside down lately, but maybe…just maybe there was still hope.

“We should scout ahead,” Ryber suggested before they had even taken a few steps in the direction of the Grieg estates. Apparently, they were the closest to where they were now and the dom himself would escort them into Praga so they wouldn’t have to wander. “So we can know which way to go.”

“I can go,” Cam volunteered. “I’m quick, and I ain’t scared of the unfamiliar land.”

Merik couldn’t help but smile at the boy’s instant bravery. “Thank you, Cam, but if there are patrols out here and they see you, they’ll have questions. We aren’t even supposed to be here at all, and we’ll have to stay hidden.”

“I wouldn’t be worried,” Caden countered, not looking back at Merik. “My father always sends out patrols in fair weather, but after a storm he typically can’t be bothered. He claims that nobody in their right mind would be out here anyway, and he won’t waste soldiers going out to make sure.”

Lev snorted. “He sounds exactly as lazy as every other dom.”

“He is.”

“I’ll go,” Merik said, just for the sake of not being in so tightly packed a group anymore. “At any signs of conflict I’ll come back.”

Safi hummed in approval. “I’ll join you—you’re new to the mountains and you’ll probably get lost on your own.”

Merik wanted to argue that he wouldn’t get lost, but it would probably be a pointless thing to say when she was right. Besides, he wouldn’t object to having a few minutes alone with Safi.

They sped up and continued in their forward direction, rapidly leaving the others behind as they took note of the landscape and tried their best to determine where Dom fon Grieg’s estates would be. “Shouldn’t you know this?” Merik asked her. “You grew up in these mountains.”

“Talk to Caden,” she muttered. “He grew up in the _estate_ itself and he can’t find it. He’s completely useless.”

Merik laughed aloud. He would die before he admitted it, but he had missed the way she got when she was frustrated—snappish and somehow adorable at the same time—and by Noden’s coral throne, he had missed _her_. The way her golden hair framed her face, the tilt of her head as she considered the world around her, the confident posture she maintained that said she was ready to fight the world.

“You said you thought we’d never see each other again,” he blurted out before he knew what he was saying.

Safi regarded him out of the corner of her eye and kept walking. “I did say that. Yes.”

“I thought you were dead,” Merik said, the words rushing out of him in a torrent he could not stop. “I thought you died in the explosion on Vaness’s ship. Cam told me about what had happened and I heard that you were on it when it happened. I didn’t know you were alive until we saw each other in the mountain.”

“I could say the same to you,” she returned quickly, but her voice didn’t have the edge that it normally did during their verbal sparring. “I-I didn’t want to believe it. It wasn’t fair, for you to….” She trailed off, leaving no indication as to how she would have finished the sentence.

Merik stopped walking, placing his hand on her arm until she turned around, her eyebrows rising as if wanting to know what he was going to say. A knot of emotions tangled inside him, but this time he knew they weren’t anger or the Nihar rage. This time he was focusing on the intensity of Safi’s gaze, the hardness in her eyes that was somehow intimidating and beautiful all at once.

“Are you all right?” he asked her, his voice low. Husky. “You didn’t get hurt while we were separated?”

She bit her lip, not breaking eye contact. “I’m fine. I broke my ankle, but a healer saw to me and I’m fine now. But you—you had a much harder time than I did.”

He wasn’t about to deny that, but he didn’t want to make it a competition either. Now that he really thought about it, he had done enough dramatics while they were on the _Jana _together to last a lifetime. “I don’t understand why,” he began, “because you’re stubborn and bothersome and absolutely frustrating, but…but I’m glad we’re both here. Even if it’s only for a little while.”

“Oddly enough, Prince, so am I.” Safi smiled, and that one smile was his undoing. It was everything wild and reckless and _Safi_, that impressively dangerous smirk that spoke of a person who would do anything to get the freedom she wanted. Without another thought, Merik tightened his grip on her arm, pulled her closer, and kissed her.

Safi leaned in, wrapping her arms around him and returning the kiss with such vehemence that he stumbled back a few paces, never letting go of her. Her fingers dug into his shoulder blades and his were woven in her wavy locks of hair. The wind howled against them with the same frigid intensity as it had all day, but they didn’t break apart. If anything, his lips pressed harder into hers.

Somehow, this one kiss, this one lasting embrace, was everything they had missed while they were apart. It was the proper good-bye they never got to have, the conversations about what they were going through, the fighting and arguing and screaming at each other like they always did, the pauses between their words that betrayed how they really felt.

Merik couldn’t say how long they stayed like that, every second laced with hope mingled with a kind of desperation. After everything that had happened, neither he nor Safi knew what was to come. They only knew that every moment could be their last, and if this was, then he was going to make it last as long as he could.

Finally, Safi pulled away, her eyes fluttering open and staring into Merik’s. “I can hear something,” she said breathlessly, and his heart sank. The only other time they’d kissed, she had stopped because she heard something, and it had ended in absolute disaster.

“What is—”

“No, it’s nothing wrong,” she reassured him, looking behind his shoulder. Her lips formed an _o_ in surprise, and then she laughed. First a nervous chuckle, and then louder. “I suppose we were here all along.”

Merik didn’t understand. He gently extricated himself from Safi’s embrace. “What are you talking about?”

“Look behind you,” she said with a grin. “I guess we found it.”

And there, at the bottom of an incline and masked behind a wall of pine trees, was the undeniable shape of the main building on the Grieg estates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will begin Leopold's plan, which should prove to be interesting. Hopefully I'll get that out soon!


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first stage of the plan gets set until motion as Vivia and the others arrive at Dom fon Grieg's estate. While keeping up the charade of political prisoners, Vivia and Stix must determine how best to serve their country while pretending to be the captives of another empire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was interesting to write for two reasons - one, I absolutely love Vivia's POV (both reading it and writing it) and two, Dom fon Grieg is only in the actual books for like one scene. So yeah. Hope you like it!

Even though she knew she was playing a part, it was jarring to act so much like a prisoner. Vivia’s wrists were bound tightly together and she kept her head ducked, her hair falling loosely in front of her face as though she had been a captive for some time now. Just in case they ran into patrols before reaching the estate, she added a stumble to her step every once in a while, like they were walking a long distance.

Stix was similarly tied up, as they were using the ruse of her being Vivia’s accomplice to allow as many people as possible into the capital. Both wore heretic’s collars, which prevented them from using their witcheries. While a necessity if they were going to pull this off, it felt alien to be unable to reach her magic.

Whenever the group passed through a narrower path, Aeduan kept a firm grip on Vivia’s and Stix’s arms as though making sure they didn’t try to run for it. This was then proven to be a complication when Vivia slipped on the icy ground and fell hard, nearly taking the other two with her. What must have been a sharp rock scratched her cheek, stinging against the bitter cold of the ice. She quickly got up, blushing furiously and glancing over at Stix.

By the time they were within easy view of the Grieg estates, Leopold called for everyone to stop. “Not everybody can keep going at this point,” he said, gesturing to Iseult, Vaness, Merik, Cam, Ryber, Kullen, and Owl. “But luckily, there’s a place where you all can stay where we can still be in easy contact with one another and close enough to meet up if need be.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, then scanned the group. “Does anyone have a pen?”

“You’re kidding,” Safi said. “_Look _at us.”

She made a fair point. Vivia and Stix were tied up like the political prisoners they were supposed to be, Merik and Kullen had only just gotten out of the sleeping ice, Safi was wearing a Dalmotti silk gown from Vaness’s birthday celebration, and everyone else was dressed for the elements. _Of course _no one had a pen.

Leopold shook his head and put away the paper. “All right then. Iseult, if you would come here? I can give you the directions, and—”

She didn’t hear the rest of what he was saying, because Caden pulled her and Stix to the side. “When my father sees you,” he explained, “he won’t react well. He’s very loyal to the emperor, and he’ll be furious at you both—particularly the princess—for the plot with Safi. He wouldn’t dare to hurt you because that’s for the emperor to decide. Still…he has a temper, so be ready.”

Vivia set her jaw and nodded. She could do this.

_For Nubrevna._

Caden smiled. “Thank you for doing this,” he said quietly. “If we went back to the capital without proof that someone had kidnapped her, it’d be my death warrant. I’m going to keep you safe.”

“Thank you, Hell-Bard.” And she meant it. He was quite possibly the only person who had ever promised to keep her safe, and while she hardly ever needed someone to protect her, the sentiment was foreign to her.

Away from them, Leopold finished giving Iseult what appeared to be unnecessarily complicated directions. “We’ll have to split up here,” the prince announced, “because Dom fon Grieg can’t see you all here with us. I’ve told Iseult where to go, so she can lead the rest of you, yes?”

And then it was time for quick good-byes. Safi hugged her Threadsister and whispered something in her ear while Owl came up to Aeduan. He picked her up and said quietly, “I’ll be back to you soon, Little Owl. You will listen to Iseult while I am gone?”

The girl nodded, and he looked relieved. Merik came over to Vivia, looking awkward and like he didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled finally. “For everything I did growing up. I didn’t really understand what you were trying to do for our country. Just…promise me you won’t die.”

“I won’t,” Vivia swore, touched by his words. She and her brother hadn’t gotten to have a real bond growing up, but here they were trying to amends. “I—well, I can’t hug you, but stay safe, Merry.” She raised her tied wrists, and he got the message, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around her. When he stepped back, she smiled at him with sincerity that surprised even herself.

Then was immediately distracted by Leopold’s elaborate good-bye to Iseult, whom Vivia (in spite of only knowing them for a few hours) had not known was especially close to the prince. He embraced her tightly for longer than seemed necessary and murmured something unintelligible to her. Finally, he let go and grinned charmingly before joining Vivia, Stix, Aeduan, Safi, and the Hell-Bards.

“We’re going to see each other again,” Leopold said to the others confidently. “It’s going to go according to plan. We’ll set up a method of contact.”

With nothing else to be said and no time to waste, they separated—Iseult and her group going in whichever direction Leopold had told her to go, while Vivia followed the others toward the Grieg estates. As much as she tried to stay calm, her heart beat a little faster as she was led down the pathway to the front entrance. She was so deep in enemy territory that it felt like a betrayal to Nubrevna just _being_ here, and walking straight up to one of Henrick’s loyalists suddenly did not seem like the greatest idea.

But it was too late for second thoughts, because Caden had come up to the doorway and was immediately allowed inside. The servant clearly recognized his face.

“Where is my father?” he asked the servant in Cartorran. Vivia frantically tried to recall her knowledge of the language, which was basic at best.

“I’m here,” the dom said, walking toward the doorway and looking surprised to see how many people were standing there. “I wasn’t expecting—Your Imperial Highness!” He bowed to Leopold, who immediately resumed his persona of charm and grace.

He gestured for Dom fon Grieg to stand up, adding an unnecessary flourish to the hand movement. “Surely you’re shocked to see so many visitors at your door,” he began with the hints of a smile. “With the monk’s help, we’ve recovered Safiya from her kidnappers.” He waved toward Safi, who met the dom’s gaze unflinchingly.

“Did you now?” Dom fon Grieg asked, looking thoroughly pleased with this information. “Who took her? Do you have them in chains?”

Leopold glanced about theatrically, nodding at the servant at the door with a significant glance back at the dom. The message was clear: _We can’t discuss this around company._

Looking vastly self-important, Dom fon Grieg hurried to shut the door and usher the servant away from everybody else. Vivia’s pulse was racing. He hadn’t examined everyone yet, so he hadn’t seen her, but it wouldn’t be long now before he did.

“It was the Nubrevnans,” Leopold proclaimed in a hushed whisper, pausing for effect before continuing to speak. “Though they collaborated with the Marstoks in an alliance against our empire, and—”

“Filthy liars, the lot of them!” Dom fon Grieg interjected angrily. “They broke the Truce by conspiring against us! We will destroy their countries!”

_You will never destroy my country. You will not set foot in it._

“Be that as it may,” Leopold continued, “we managed to be _very _successful. Not only did we recover my uncle’s betrothed from her captors, but we learned just who her captors were. Two of them are among our number now as political prisoners to be brought back to Praga.”

Aeduan shoved Vivia forward roughly as though she truly were a prisoner, Stix stumbling beside her. She looked up at the dom defiantly and watched as recognition clicked in his eyes.

“Princess Vivia Nihar of Nubrevna,” Leopold announced, “and her accomplice, Captain Stacia Sotar. We determined that the princess used Wordwitched correspondence to communicate with Empress Vaness of Marstok”—_he’s not exactly wrong_, Vivia thought wryly— “and they negotiated an alliance against Cartorra. To begin hostilities, they abducted Safiya and intended to use her as a hostage.”

Dom fon Grieg looked shocked and he stared speechlessly at Vivia. Then the temper that Caden had warned her of exploded. “You’re lucky to even have the ground your countrymen walk on!” he shouted at her. “And instead you show such insolence, such ingratitudeas to dishonor your mother’s vow—the very Aether of the Truce itself! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

“You have no concept of shame,” Vivia snarled before she could stop herself. “You live here comfortably in your mountain estate, well rewarded for your loyalty to an emperor who tried to break Nubrevna. Who came _so close _to breaking Nubrevna that we’re still holding on so hard that daily survival is like dangling off a cliff, and yet we persevere. What have you ever done? What has your entire worthless country ever done that wasn’t to destroy?”

It looked like he was about to strike her, but Leopold stepped smoothly between them. “My uncle will want to see her and the captain personally, and until then they are not to be harmed. They’re prisoners, but valuable ones.”

“Yes, Your Imperial Highness,” Dom fon Grieg said, visibly trying to calm himself down. “Well, I will prepare transportation to Praga for you, Domna fon Hasstrel, and these filthy, lying prisoners. Hell-Bards, you stay here to protect His Imperial Highness.” Then he was gone.

Caden stared after his father with an oddly vulnerable expression on his face. “Go on,” he muttered bitterly. “Don’t bother welcoming me home.”

It was only then that Vivia realized the dom hadn’t spoken a word directly to his son during the exchange. It was only then that she realized that she saw a little bit of herself in the Hell-Bard that she barely knew.

“I’m sure he was just distracted by Leopold being here,” Safi told him quietly. “And the—the prisoners.”

“No,” he said, shrugging as though saying he didn’t care while speaking in a way that said he cared very much. “It’s always been like this. He’s never treated me like his other children because of, you know, the situations regarding my birth. My half-brothers…_they_ were the good ones. They could do no wrong.”

Safi frowned. “Hell-flames, that’s hardly fair.”

Caden gave her a rueful smile. “You’re a lot of things, Safi, but you aren’t naïve. You know that nothing in life is fair.”

“Still…he’s your father,” Safi persisted, those words cutting into Vivia like a knife even though they weren’t directed at her. _Share the glory, share the blame. He’s my father. He couldn’t even let me have my own birthright. _“My uncle—well, my uncle wasn’t a good caregiver and he couldn’t responsibly manage his own estate, but he loved me. I know he loves me.”

“Yes, well.” Caden shifted uncomfortably, then reached up to touch the golden chain. He seemed to draw comfort from the fact that he was free from its curse now. “He has two others sons, legitimate ones, and they were always enough for him.”

Vivia ducked her head, staring at the floor. She would be lying if she claimed that she was not still shaken up by everything her father had done as of late, from claiming credit for the under-city to making war orders behind her back to reclaiming her crown without even telling her first. It was too much. They were supposed to family. He was supposed to understand this darkness inside her and help her through it, not use it as a tool to manipulate her and profit from it.

Stix bumped her shoulder with her own, a friendly gesture that was awkward because of her tied hands. “Are you all right?” she murmured.

“Yes.” She couldn’t afford not to be.

Stix hummed, and Vivia couldn’t tell if that was meant as an agreement or a kind way to say she didn’t believe it. She didn’t press the matter.

“We’re going to be all right,” Stix added in a low voice that was almost a whisper. “We’re going to get your throne back, Vivia. I promise.”

“I don’t deserve to have someone like you on my side,” she blurted out, tilting her hands so that the pressure on her wrists was eased a little. “I want to save my country from the threats it’s facing, and by Noden, if one of those threats is my father then I want to save Nubrevna from him too. But Stix…” She trailed off.

Her friend turned to face her more fully. “But what?”

“I’m scared,” Vivia admitted honestly. “What can I do that will make a change? Anything I’ve done has been done with good intentions, but intentions aren’t enough anymore. I—”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Leopold cut in, leaning forward so that he spoke directly to them in a hushed voice. “But even though he’s left the room, I would suggest waiting to finish this conversation. We don’t want to risk the chance that one of the servants will overhear something and jeopardize our chances.”

Vivia flushed. Now that she thought about it, it made sense. “Sorry.”

“Speaking of the servants,” Caden said before briefly stepping out of the room and having a quick conversation with someone who lingered outside. “Sending for a healer,” he explained, gesturing to Zander. “Our rushed medical attentions weren’t enough, and my father has talented healers in his employ.”

In what seemed like no time at all, the healer had arrived, executing an awkward half-bow half-salute to Caden. “Commander fitz Grieg, you sent for me?”

“Yes.” He ushered Zander forward and began to explain the injury without detailing how the Hell-Bard had received it. “I’ll stay with him while you—”

“Forgive me, sir,” the healer said, “but your father has said that you’re to remain in here to protect the prince. I shouldn’t like to go against his wishes.”

Caden sighed. “No. No, of course you wouldn’t. I do have some authority here—I might not be the dom, but I’m his son. Surely I can stay with a soldier under my command as he’s treated for a wound.”

“Forgive me, sir,” the healer repeated simply. “But I won’t go against Dom fon Grieg.”

“I’ll go with Zander,” Lev volunteered. “I don’t answer directly to the dom and one person is enough to protect His Imperial Highness.”

The healer didn’t look happy about it, but he acquiesced and allowed Lev to follow as he led Zander out the door. It wasn’t much longer until Dom fon Grieg himself returned from, like he had said he would do, arranging the transportation to Praga. Vivia didn’t think she imagined the sigh of relief that Safi made upon seeing his return. After all, Dom fon Hasstrel’s days were numbered.

Dom fon Grieg made rather a production of escorting them back out the door and toward the carriages that had been set up for the unexpected journey. But before they got inside, he paused and turned to Leopold.

“I find myself worried, Your Imperial Highness,” he said without preamble, “about the dangers of being in the presence of such dangerous political prisoners. I shall do as you order, of course, but what if the Nubrevnan princess and her accomplice somehow manage to get away?”

“That will not be a problem,” Aeduan answered. “With my Bloodwitchery, I could easily incapacitate them both if they tried to escape.”

Dom fon Grieg looked simultaneously intimidated and impressed. “Still…would it not be wiser to prevent such escape plans?” He raised his eyebrows.

Leopold paused, and Vivia saw what was going through his mind in a fraction of a second. If he didn’t go along with the dom’s idea, it would look suspicious. It might become clear that they were plotting something, or even that the prince was committing treason against his uncle.

“That is a splendid idea,” Leopold said, turning his back on Dom fon Grieg and facing Aeduan. As he did this, he shot a quick look at Vivia and Stix. _I’m sorry_, he said with his eyes. “Monk, if you would…?”

Vivia didn’t feel any different at first—but then she noticed her racing heartbeat begin to slow down until it was normal again, then continuing until it was noticeably not fast enough. Her fingers began to tingle like they weren’t receiving enough blood, and the dom in front of her was starting to go blurry.

“Y-you don’t have…to d-do this,” she mumbled like any protesting captive would.

“We w-won’t try to escape,” Stix affirmed slowly, her words slurred.

There was no response, and Vivia’s legs were starting to go weak. She couldn’t feel her hands. Darkness pressed at the corners of her vision, only along the edges at first but creeping in until she could barely see. She tried to say something, anything, but her lips felt oddly numb and no sound came out. Dimly, she was aware of her ankles giving way beneath her and she collapsed, and then she remembered nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll get started on the next chapter soon so I can continue the relatively quick updates. Next we'll get a look at what is going on with Iseult and the others who can't go with Dom fon Grieg to Praga to face the emperor.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions arise as to where the imperial prince of Cartorra's loyalties truly lie, leading to division amongst those instrumental to his plan. Meanwhile, Safi returns to Praga as the emperor's betrothed with a strategy in place to prevent the marriage that might not be enough, in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to make each chapter have two perspectives from now on so that you can know what's going on in different places. This one is split between Iseult and Safi. Hope you like it!

“For the last time,” Iseult reminded Merik flatly, “I don’t know what we’re doing any more than you do.”

She had no idea how much time had passed since they separated from Safi and the others, but the Nubrevnan prince had already raised suspicions at least three times relating to the direction in which they were headed and what they were going to do once they got there. While she shared his doubts, she could do precious little to address them, and the patience she normally had was ebbing away.

“Remind me again why we are doing this,” Vaness said. “We are in enemy territory alone in these mountains, following behind someone who just admitted they don’t know what we are doing, all at the order of _Prince Leopold._”

“Something tells me you don’t hold the prince in a very high regard,” Kullen noted dryly.

Vaness scoffed as she struggled up an incline. Iseult turned and offered a hand to help her, which was refused. “Who here does?” the empress asked, a little breathlessly. “He is weak and cowardly and, frankly, quite foolish. Yet here we are in his country doing his bidding for a plan that is very unlikely to succeed.”

“She has a point,” Merik added. “I’ve only met him once before today, at the Truce Summit in Veñaza City, but he never struck me as a trustworthy person. The stakes of this are so high that going along with whatever he does seems like a terrible idea.”

It reminded Iseult of her own indecision back in the Carawen Monastery, when she had to decide in a heartbeat whether or not to trust Leopold. It hadn’t been an easy choice, what with his tendency to mask what he was feeling, but in the end his Threads had convinced her. Focused and sincere. The imperial prince might hide behind a dozen walls of his own making, but his Threads couldn’t lie to her.

From behind her, Vaness sighed loudly, and somehow that one exhale was filled with all the frustration the world could hold. “It’s very unwise to put all of our lives at stake simply for a haphazard strategy that could very well go in his favor,” she added.

“Well, what do you propose we do instead?” Ryber asked simply.

“We could leave,” Vaness suggested. “We could not go to the place that he told Iseult—just find another location where we could regroup and form a new strategy. One that’s _mutually beneficial_ for more than just Cartorra.”

Iseult stopped walking, sensing a long debate in the making that would be too involved to be worth walking while the conversation was going on. Sure enough, within a few moments of Vaness uttering the words, the outcry began.

“There is no way in Hell we are doing that!” Merik exclaimed, his Threads burning bright with red anger and resistance. “What do you want to do, just leave Vivia behind? She’s taking this risk for us, and you would abandon her?”

Vaness drew herself up to her full height, which admittedly wasn’t much, but she still managed to be intimidating. “As much as you Nubrevnans like to think of yourselves as the victim in everything, I never intended to leave Vivia behind.” She stopped speaking for a moment, for seemingly no reason, something strange in her eyes. Her Threads were wheat with embarrassment, which didn’t seem to make any sense with what she had just said. Finally, glancing around as if to see whether anyone had noticed something, she finished with, “I wasn’t going to leave her behind. I was just suggesting that we go somewhere other than where Prince Leopold asked us to go so we could plan how to free her and Captain Sotar.”

Only when she used Leopold’s title did Iseult realize why she was bothered. She had called Vivia by her first name, which wasn’t something that most rulers did. Still, judging by everyone else’s expressions and Threads, it didn’t seem like anyone else had noticed.

As quickly as Merik had grown upset, he calmed back down and seemed to think it over. “That actually makes sense,” he admitted, nodding slowly. “If all of us are in the same location, one that he specifically chose…well, we’d be more valuable to him than anything else as political prisoners. Actual ones.”

“But if Prince Leopold wanted to do that,” Cam argued, gesturing with his hands as he spoke, “then he would’ve found some way to take us into custody, right? Before we had a chance to get away?”

“Not if he thought it would look suspicious,” Merik pointed out. “Not if he thought that we would walk straight into his trap.”

Iseult herself refrained from adding her voice to the conversation, if only because she did not know which side to support. It was true that she didn’t fully trust Leopold yet, and she didn’t know if she ever would. He was shrouded in too much mystery of his own making for that to be reasonable as of right now. But had he really set them up in this elaborate trap? She somehow didn’t think so.

Owl huddled against Iseult, her eyes wide like her namesake. “What are they saying?” she whispered, and it was only then that she realized everyone was speaking Dalmotti, the language that nearly everyone on the continent knew.

“We’re just discussing the plan,” she murmured back in Nomatsi, refraining from relaying the specifics for the time being. The little girl didn’t need to be worried about that yet.

“It doesn’t make sense why he would do it like this if he just wanted to capture us,” Cam persisted. “It’d be hard to explain why _all_ of us are working together. And no offense, Your Imperial Majesty, but not five minutes ago you were saying Prince Leopold was weak and foolish. Now he’s made a plot to kill us?”

The question weighed heavily on everyone, bringing with it an equally heavy silence, for he made sense. If Leopold had an ulterior motive, then he was going about it in such a roundabout way that success on his part seemed nearly impossible, especially when there were much easier ways to kidnap a person.

“I don’t know,” Kullen said finally. “I don’t trust him fully, but I don’t think he would do this either.”

“It would be the height of foolishness to keep going where he wants us to,” Vaness insisted, every inch of her posture defiant. “And while the rest of you might want to throw your lives away, I have a country I must return to.”

Ryber nodded. “But as Merik said, we can’t leave Vivia and Stix behind.”

“Or Safi,” Iseult reminded them, nearly shuddering at the thought of her Threadsister with Emperor Henrick. “She’s having to play along with this engagement, but we have to make sure it doesn’t go too far.”

“We do not have to blindly obey Prince Leopold in order to help the others, though.” As Vaness continued to reinforce her point, the tension thickened in the rest of the group until nearly everyone shifted uncomfortably as they thought over what best to do. Until more and more people were nodding along with the empress of Marstok.

Until Iseult suddenly found herself in the inconceivable position of defending Leopold.

“Think about it,” she began, the other voices quieting down at the sound of her quiet one. “Safi is a Truthwitch who spent most of her childhood with Leopold. They knew each other well enough to be close friends, well enough that it must be easy as breathing for her to use her magic on him. Surely she wouldn’t go along with such a risky strategy if she thought his intentions were anything but sincere?”

When no one immediately argued with her, Iseult continued. “I can see his Threads at all times, and while he hides behind a courtier’s mask to the rest of the world, he can’t hide his true feelings from me. I don’t know if he is our friend and I don’t even know if he is our ally, but when he was telling us how we would be able to save Safi’s uncle? His Threads were pure and earnest. He meant what he said, and he’s trying to help.”

Another long pause. Then: “There isn’t any arguing with that,” Ryber said, clearly in support of what Iseult had said. “His Threads were honest, and we have to believe him.”

“I don’t like it,” Vaness muttered. “Even if he is not actively plotting against us, it feels wrong to collaborate with the Cartorran prince when our countries have been at odds for so long.”

Merik laughed bitterly. “I could say the same for every nation represented amongst us.”

“Yes, we _know_ you could but you aren’t even the heir to the throne of Nubrevna,” Vaness said shortly, her patience clearly spent. “So if we are going to do this, let’s do it before anything else can go wrong.”

And so, with reluctant nods and shrugs, Iseult and the others set off again with the thickly forested mountains around them and the scent of snow on the wind.

The journey to Praga was not a long one, or perhaps it was Safi’s adrenaline that made it feel so. She couldn’t seem to stop bouncing her knees or tapping her heels. It wasn’t her fault—she always got this way on carriage rides—and the pent-up energy inside her from knowing what was to come wasn’t helping matters.

She kept waiting for Dom fon Grieg to reach his peak of annoyance with her, but it never seemed to come. First he was upset that she was wearing such a thin gown in the cold, protesting that if she got sick before she could marry the emperor it would be a disaster, but Safi easily blamed it on what her captors gave her to wear while she was taken. Then he had apparently decided that it bothered him when she acted like anything but the model domna, so of course she did it often. Now he was exasperated by the constant bouncing and tapping.

There was at least one similarity between father and son—Caden, too, had been frustrated with her when she couldn’t keep still in the slaver’s carriage back in Saldonica.

Of course, Dom fon Grieg couldn’t act on his annoyance since she was betrothed to the emperor of Cartorra, which made it that much sweeter. As far as he knew, she had indeed been kidnapped by Vivia.

The Nubrevnan princess and Stix were still unconscious, and Aeduan would keep them that way until they got back to the palace in the capital. It hadn’t been part of the plan, but when Dom fon Grieg proposed it, it made too much sense to logically be refused.

“We’re here, Safiya,” Leopold said, startling her out of her thoughts. She looked out the window and found that, yes, there was Henrick’s palace in front of them, large and imposing as ever.

“I’m sure His Imperial Majesty will want to see you right away,” Dom fon Grieg told her, looking quite excited that he would be the one to present the returned domna. Knowing Henrick, though, he would get none of the credit. “We’ll bring you to him.”

When the carriage came to a stop, Safi stepped outside and immediately wished her Threadsister were here. Iseult's presence always calmed her, but now she felt lost. Afraid.

Here she would have to forsake the freedom she’d fought for.

“If the emperor can’t see me immediately, I understand,” she replied in her most elegant voice, implying that she actually respected what Henrick wanted. “It’s nearly dark—I could go in the morning.”

“Nonsense,” Dom fon Grieg insisted. “You’ve just been brought back from kidnappers, and I’m sure he’ll want to see his betrothed to make sure that you’re well and unharmed.”

Leopold shot her a sympathetic look that the dom couldn’t see and took her arm gently, guiding her into the palace. The guards at the entrance looked shocked to see them, but kept quiet as they had been trained to do. Unless there was an imminent crisis or they were instructed to do otherwise, they did not speak.

“Someone find my uncle,” the prince said carelessly to one of the many servants inside the entrance hall. “Tell him I have to speak with him at once.”

A young serving boy bowed and darted off to perform the task.

“It’ll be all right, Safiya,” Leopold murmured, quietly enough that no one else would be able to hear. “You aren’t going to marry him. I promise.”

“I know,” she whispered back without moving her lips. She didn’t say what she wanted to say, that her real issue wasn’t the marriage—if it came down to that, she could flee as she always had when troubles came her way. The real problem was her uncle and how to possibly save him from a fate he didn’t deserve, while all the while she was trapped in a living nightmare from her youngest years.

But how could she say that to Leopold? How could she say that at all?

Within a few minutes that were somehow an eternity and somehow a heartbeat at the same time, Emperor Henrick himself came into the entrance hall, looking shocked to see Safi standing there beside his nephew.

“Uncle,” Leopold began, stepping forward. “The Bloodwitch monk and I found Safiya and brought her back from her kidnappers.”

Aeduan nodded once in confirmation, not elaborating further. The Hell-Bards had stayed in the carriages with Vivia and Stix, both so that they couldn’t get away if they woke up and so that they wouldn’t arouse suspicion from the servants who worked outside. Bringing unconscious bodies into the palace was not exactly an inconspicuous task.

Safi knelt before the emperor, hating the feel of the cold marble against her knees. _One day_, she promised herself. _One day I won’t kneel again._

“Well?” Henrick demanded, his voice too loud as always. “Who was it who took her? Was it the Marstoks, as we thought? The Nubrevnans?”

“It was both,” Leopold announced, falling easily back into the rhythmic tone that he took on for storytelling. “We have learned that the two countries formed an alliance with one another against us, and Princess Vivia Nihar was the mastermind along with Empress Vaness of Marstok. They collaborated together to kidnap Safiya and use her as leverage. With the monk and the Hell-Bards, we were able to take the princess as a political prisoner, along with one of her accomplices. The empress, I presume, is still in Marstok.”

Somewhere along the way, Henrick’s face had changed from surprised to pleased to filled with outrage. “They signed the Truce!” he spluttered, his arms waving wildly. “They pledged that they would be at peace with us for twenty years and they’ve been conspiring against us before the years are even up? This is _exactly_ why we were at war in the first place! They’re never satisfied with what they have, they—”

“Uncle,” Leopold interrupted. “I don’t know if you heard me, but we have Princess Vivia Nihar of Nubrevna and Captain Stacia Sotar as prisoners.”

“What?” Henrick, in the blink of an eye, looked delighted again. “That’s wonderful—it’s what they deserve for being so deceitful! Where are they now?”

Aeduan cleared his throat. “In the carriages still, with the Hell-Bards, though we were waiting for your approval to take them to the dungeons.”

“Oh, yes, do that.” The emperor smiled cruelly. “We’ll set up an execution date right away, of course, and make it public so we can make an example.”

“I would recommend against that,” Leopold said calmly, and that placidity was a _lie_. “If we keep them alive, at least for the moment, then the Marstoks or Nubrevnans might organize a rescue. Since our capital is so well-fortified, we will only be able to gain from this and take more prisoners as needed.”

Henrick thought this over for a long moment, then nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course, that would be wise. Bloodwitch, go with the Hell-Bards and bring the Nubrevnans to the dungeons.”

Aeduan inclined his head and left without another word.

“And as for you….” Chills went down Safi’s spine as Henrick spoke to her. “My betrothed is returned to me at last.”

She didn’t dare to speak.

“The timing of your kidnapping was indeed…unfortunate,” he went on.

Was he in earnest, or did he suspect that it was intentional?

“I am sure that you’ll be eager to cooperate after everything you’ve gone through.”

_I can assure you that I won’t be._

“Won’t you, my dear?”

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty,” Safi forced out.

Henrick smiled, a cold and unforgiving thing. “Perfect. Leopold, if you would escort her to the finest guest chambers? That is where she will be staying. And afterward, return to me and I will speak with you more about this new—development.”

With a final awkward bow, Safi left the room with Leopold, feeling as though every step were a mile. They walked in silence until he came to the guest room and opened the door for her with a flourish. Just before she went inside, she turned back to him and leaned closer.

“Will this work, Polly?” she breathed, needing the reassurance.

“Of course it will,” he answered with a charming smile, and she nodded before shutting the door and leaning against the wall with an audible sigh. Because some things stayed the same, and here she was again in Praga when she’d sworn to herself she would never come back.

Because at Leopold’s last words, her magic had fluttered awkwardly as though even her Truthwitchery had no idea whether it was a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will take us into the palace dungeons where Vivia and Stix are now prisoners, as well as a look into where exactly Leopold led the others. I hope you enjoyed this!!


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As new prisoners of the emperor, Vivia and Stix are alone in the dungeons of Praga with a seemingly bleak outlook. Meanwhile, Merik and the others reach the destination that Leopold specified. His plan seems to be more involved than anyone could have imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes us into the dungeons as Vivia has a breakdown and Stix is there to help her. After, new concerns are raised about Polly's master strategy...

The first thing she became aware of was the chain—solid and unforgiving, the links hard against her wrist. Then it was the cold, so deep it went to her bones and so raw it felt like a tangible thing. As consciousness slowly returned, she realized that she was lying on a stone surface and only her left wrist was shackled. Where was she? As the memories began to come back to her, she could recall standing in front of Dom fon Grieg…the nobleman saying it would be wise if Aeduan made sure they couldn’t escape…and then darkness.

_Oh, shit._

Stix sat up, her eyes blinking open to find herself in a dungeon cell illuminated only by weak torchlight. The chains on her wrist were connected to the wall with enough length between them that she figured she would be able to stand up and _maybe _take a single step, but no more than that.

Then she scanned the rest of her surroundings and realized that there was someone else in there with her—on the opposite side of the cell, huddled on the floor with a similar chain.

A very familiar someone.

“Vivia,” Stix said, her voice somewhat hoarse. Then she said the name again. “Vivia!”

The princess began to stir, her free hand reaching out to grasp the chain and then seeming to realize what it was. “What’s going on?” she gasped, pushing up into a sitting position. “Where are we?”

“I’m not sure,” Stix admitted honestly, checking her own pulse. Her heart rate was back to normal, thankfully—she hadn’t been prepared for how disorienting it would be for her heartbeat to become so slow that it numbed the senses, until even speaking became utterly impossible. “I can’t remember anything after we were about to get into the carriages and Aeduan lowered our pulses.”

“If everything went as planned, we might be in Praga,” Vivia said, standing up. “Emperor Henrick’s dungeons, most likely.”

Stix rose unsteadily to her feet, the chain rattling at her movement. “It would seem so,” she replied, looking around. The cell was more spacious than she would have expected from a dungeon, but there were no windows and the torch was flickering feebly. And it was so cold—Praga was close enough to the mountains for that to have an effect, not to mention they were inside an underground cell made of stone.

Something about it was inherently hostile, and it seemed designed to drain away hope.

Maybe Vivia felt it too, because she fell silent for a long moment before speaking again in a much quieter voice. “Stix, how are we going to get out of this?” she asked. “We’re alone down here.”

“You seemed confident enough before,” Stix answered halfheartedly, mostly as a way to cover up her own lack of confidence.

“That was before we got knocked unconscious and brought forcefully to a dungeon cell where we can’t escape.” Vivia tugged fruitlessly on the chain that bound her to the wall. “We’ll be trapped down here for a ransom that will never be paid, or a hostage exchange that will never be fulfilled. Even _if_ anyone in Nubrevna knew we were taken, which they don’t, my father—” Her voice trembled and she took a deep breath. “My father wouldn’t want me back.”

Stix wanted desperately to say otherwise, to convince her friend that Serafin was only misunderstood and that he loved and cherished his daughter. But she couldn’t bring herself to lie.

“I suppose that’s what I’m afraid of,” Vivia continued, ducking her head. Her hair fell into her face and Stix hated to see her like that. It was such a gesture of defeat, such a gesture of shame. “I’m not afraid of dying, but I’m afraid that if I did, no one would care. I’m not respected by the people like my father is or loved like Merik, and I’m forever seen as weak because of what my mother did. I set up the under-city for the people of Lovats and I gave everything to my country who never gave anything back—and if I was killed here, right now, no one back home would mourn.” She laughed bitterly. “It’s selfish of me to hope they would.”

“It’s not selfish at all.” _But stop talking about what would happen if you were dead. I don’t want to think about it. _“You deserve so much better than the way they treat you.”

Vivia looked up, her eyes a thousand miles away and shining in the torchlight. “But I _don’t _deserve any better—I wish I did, but I know I don’t. Who knows how things would be now if I’d been a better princess from the beginning? A better daughter? I’ve always had this darkness inside of me, and I worked so hard to fight against it, but what if I couldn’t? As long as it’s there, I’m too weak to be a queen, and I can never be enough.” Her voice broke with the last word, tears glittering in her dark eyes.

“Listen to me,” Stix ordered, taking half a step forward. It was all she could manage with the chain. “Your father has been manipulating you for your entire life, deliberately setting you against your brother, making you ashamed of wanting the throne that’s yours by birthright—and you think you_ deserve_ it? You’ve never tried to do anything but please your father and serve your country, and you think you should have been a better daughter? You’re perfect as you are, and so many other people have failed to see it that you believe them instead of the truth. What you have inside you is strength, never darkness. Now come here, take a step forward.” She did hesitantly—with the size of the cell, they weren’t close enough to embrace like Stix wanted, but she reached out her hand. Her friend mirrored her movement and their fingers brushed. “Don’t _ever_ say you aren’t enough.”

Vivia gripped her hand tightly and didn’t let go. She was crying in earnest now. “I’m so broken, Stix,” she whispered.

“Then give yourself the time you need to be put back together.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Stix knew they were the right things to say. She refused to believe that anything was unfixable, especially a person, but it took time and it took willingness to change. Vivia was capable of so much, but she was in over her head now and she wouldn’t let herself out. It was heartbreaking to watch.

Vivia let go of her hand to dry her tears, sniffling a little and then meeting Stix’s gaze once again. “I meant what I said before. I don’t deserve to have a friend like you. You’re so—”

“What did I just say?” Stix asked. “Don’t ever say you aren’t enough, and saying that you don’t deserve something is saying you aren’t enough.”

Before she could get an answer, the door banged open unexpectedly and three Hell-Bards came in without announcing themselves. They weren’t familiar, but since Stix only knew Caden, Lev, and Zander, that could be anyone in the brigade. “We’re here to escort you to the emperor,” one said briskly, and Stix found herself wishing for either of the other three she knew. They were friendly and knew why she was really here. “He wants to see you for himself.”

Wordlessly, one of the Hell-Bards came into the cell and unchained Stix while the other one went to do the same to Vivia. There was no use in fighting—she was weaponless, she was outnumbered, and she had the heretic’s collar on that prevented her from using magic. For now, the emperor wanted to see them, so to the emperor they would go.

It was only as Stix stumbled out of the dungeon cell with a knife pressed to her side as a warning that she realized she didn’t know how Vivia was going to finish her sentence.

Merik wanted to ask Iseult again if she knew where she was going, but that had led to the argument over Leopold’s loyalties last time, and he wasn’t eager for a repeat. At this point, his real concern was simply that Iseult had gotten them all lost, but he doubted voicing his worry would go over well.

“Not much farther,” Iseult said, sparking a little bit of hope in Merik. “The prince didn’t tell me exactly what we were looking for, or what to do once we got there, though he did say he would set up a method of contact.”

“How?” Cam asked. “If he’s in Praga and we’re…wherever we are?”

Vaness stumbled, immediately scrambling to right herself. She had been struggling in the rough terrain, both because of her size and because she was Marstoki. She lived in a primarily warm area and wasn’t used to the ice. “A good question,” she muttered.

“I…I don’t know,” Iseult admitted. “But I don’t think he would lead us to the wrong place. I’m almost certain he wouldn’t.”

_How wonderfully encouraging._

Iseult was about to say something else, that hopefully endorsed Leopold’s actions more, but then she stopped in the middle of her sentence. “There are Threads,” she murmured, so quietly Merik could barely hear it. “I can sense them.”

“Of course there are Threads,” Vaness snapped shortly, gesturing to the people around her. “Unless we’ve all suddenly become Threadless, I can’t imagine what the problem would be.”

“_Other_ Threads,” Iseult mouthed, motioning for them to stop talking. She stared intently at absolutely nothing before beckoning them off the side of the path to hide amongst the trees.

Merik had been fairly patient with her so far, but he was starting to get frustrated. If the Threads she saw were something to be worried about, then shouldn’t she be sharing the information with the others? Shouldn’t she be preparing to fight or telling them to do the same?

He felt someone swatting his arm and turned to see Ryber. “Trust her,” the Illryian girl mouthed, nodding to Iseult. Merik nodded, feeling chastised.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Iseult stopped staring at the path before them and turned to face them. “All right,” she began in a hushed whisper. “There’s a single person ahead of us, alone. I don’t sense any malice in their Threads, but it’s impossible to predict how they might react when they see us. There’s a possibility that they could mean harm to us. There’s also a possibility that Leopold knew they would be here and wanted us to find them, meaning that they’re safe.”

“Or, of course, there is the possibility that he knew they were here and wanted us to find them, meaning that they’re _not _safe,” Vaness reminded her. She hadn’t uttered a word against Leopold since the argument, but that didn’t mean she fully trusted the prince. For that matter, Merik doubted anybody here did.

“There is that chance,” Iseult whispered. “But if we do have to go here in order for the plan to work…we can’t risk ignoring it. Safi is back in the capital with Henrick. So are Vivia and Stix,” she added as though to convince Merik and Vaness. They were the two who would present arguments in any case. “Whoever it is, we outnumber them—and if it comes down to it, I could cleave them.”

Ryber thought this over. “Only as a worst-case scenario,” she said decisively. “From what you were saying before, it sounds as though there are negative side effects to cleaving people.”

“There was last time, but I’ve only done it once.” Iseult looked from person to person and then nodded once. “Then let’s go.”

Merik followed Iseult, longing to take the lead, but he couldn’t for two primary reasons—first, that he couldn’t see the Threads to follow; and second, that he was all but powerless and couldn’t cleave, which was the real weapon they possessed. His Windwitchery was weak and it certainly wasn’t straight from the Void.

They had been walking for less than a minute when they cleared the trees and discovered the outskirts of a small village that had been previously masked by the pines. Merik stopped in his tracks, taken aback by the new scenery and buildings. He hadn’t realized that there were actual towns in the Orhin Mountains. He’d always thought it was only populated by the few doms and domnas who had estates there.

_Wait._

If there was a village here, then why had Iseult sensed only one set of Threads?

Ryber seemed to notice this too, and began to ask a question, but Iseult kept walking toward what seemed to be an inn. Her stride was purposeful and unwavering.

“What’s going on?” Kullen asked Merik. “Is the village abandoned, or…?”

“I don’t know.”

When they walked inside the inn, the common room was empty save for a single girl. She was sitting in the corner and hunched over a piece of paper, her jet-black hair falling in front of her face. Upon their entrance, she looked up and didn’t seem surprised to see so many strangers standing there.

“You’ve come so soon,” she noted, using Dalmotti as most people did when they didn’t know what languages the latter party spoke. Her skin was pale, which (along with the shade of her hair) indicated that she might be Nomatsi. But instead of the hazel eyes that were typical of Nomatsis, her irises were a striking blue and they were not slanted.

“Who are you?” Iseult asked. Her face was unreadable as always.

The girl stood up and stepped closer to them nonthreateningly. “My name is Arida—you could call me Arida det Korelli, or Arida det Amalej, or neither for that matter. I don’t know what has happened to my tribe and I was never truly a part of them in any case. And you are Iseult.”

“How do you know my name?” she countered. There was an edge to her voice that showed she was on guard.

“Leopold told me. He’s the one who sent you here, yes?”

Merik was vastly uncomfortable at this point, watching the conversation play out. He knew that it probably wouldn’t be beneficial to speak now, as the girl seemed to specifically know of Iseult and he had no idea who else she’d heard of. But it was still hard to stand by while a person who was potentially dangerous revealed aspects of their plans to them.

“Y-yes,” Iseult said, stammering a little. “He is the one who sent me here.”

“Then that’s perfect,” Arida replied with a smile that looked genuine. She gestured to the paper she had been poring over, which Merik now noticed had long lines of ink across it. “It’s a Wordwitched paper, you see, and Leopold and I communicate through it. We can’t often meet in person because of his duties as a prince and because of my legal status—I’m half-Nomatsi so the caravans won’t accept me but neither will the empires—but I spy for him and we mainly share information this way.”

Iseult blinked. “You…you spy for him. Wh-why does he need a spy?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Arida assured her. “He isn’t betraying you, only his uncle, which I do believe is what you want. Obviously you won’t believe me—you’d be a fool to, since we only just met—and it’s really a shame that Safiya isn’t here now with you. _She_ could tell you I wasn’t lying. But you can see my Threads, so you already know that I don’t intend you harm.”

“How do you know I can see your Threads?” Her tone suggested she already knew the answer.

Arida smiled. “Leopold, of course. You forget we can communicate so easily. He’s told me everything, most especially that I can trust you all at least mildly. Iseult most of all. He’s also told me about the plan involving Safiya and Princess Vivia and you need me. Let me help you.”

“Why should we?” Vaness asked bluntly. “We do not know you and frankly, we have no reason to even believe that you know Prince Leopold. You could be setting an elaborate lie.”

With a sigh, Arida sat back down and gestured for the others to sit down at the table in front of her. “I could be, of course,” she admitted, “and you’re certainly wise to be precautious, Your Imperial Majesty. So if you make yourselves comfortable, I’ll start at the beginning. It’s a long story, but I _am_ on your side, and I can prove it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! The next chapter will have POVs from Aeduan and Ryber.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wordwitched paper is used as a method of communication between the two groups as parts of the plan begin to fail and others are born. All the while, the clock continues ticking on Eron fon Hasstrel's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is split between Aeduan's and Ryber's POV. I hope you enjoy it!

“What is it?” Aeduan asked irritably, not in the mood to have a conversation with the young servant who had just turned the corner into his path. Ordinarily, he would dismiss the boy as simply distracted and not looking where he was going, but when the servant saw who he had nearly collided with, he had stopped and not moved.

“The emperor wants to speak with you,” the boy said, sounding frightened—whether that fear was from Henrick or being so close to a Bloodwitch, Aeduan had no idea.

But the truth of the matter was that he wanted to speak with the emperor even less than he wanted to have a conversation with this boy, and he was particularly fond of neither idea. Henrick was a pathetic excuse for an emperor in any case, because his biggest weapon was his temper, and that was unpredictable at best. Aeduan did not want to bother talking to the man when he could be doing anything else with his time.

Still, if he was to go along with this plan of Leopold’s—of which he still was not fully convinced—then he would have to play the part of the mercenary, and Henrick had enough money in his coffers to make any mercenary want to talk to him.

“Where is the emperor?” Aeduan asked the boy reluctantly.

“He’s in the library with the imperial prince.” The servant refused to make eye contact with him. “If you want, I can give you directions—”

Aeduan cut him off. “I know where the library is.”

“All right then, I’ll—I’ll go.” The boy turned around and then all but fled in the opposite direction.

With a sigh, Aeduan turned and began to make his way to the library. It wasn’t that he had been about to go and do anything particularly important, but he would rather be not be occupied by anything than go and listen to Henrick’s bellowing.

When he entered the library, he saw that Prince Leopold sat in the corner facing the door, writing something intently on a sheet of paper. Henrick stood by the window on the opposite side of the room, paying no attention to his nephew. “You’re here,” the emperor noted astutely. “Good. I need to talk to you.”

“What is it?” Aeduan asked, his voice clipped.

Leopold looked up from his writing and met Aeduan’s gaze. It looked like he was trying to send some kind of message, but it wasn’t clear enough to make sense. Finally, the prince seemed to give up and he bent down over the paper again, shielding it from view with his free hand.

“Regarding the prisoners,” Henrick snapped impatiently. It probably wouldn’t be much longer until he had an outburst. “I want to see them myself, but I had to consult with you before I do that. My nephew has told me all about what happened, but I needed to know if there were any concerns about the traitors.”

Technically speaking, they were not traitors if they did not belong to Henrick’s country, but Aeduan wouldn’t be the one to point that out to him.

Imperceptibly, without looking up from whatever he was writing, Leopold shook his head. The gesture didn’t make sense unless he was giving a cue.

Oh, how Aeduan hated taking orders from Prince Leopold fon Cartorra.

“No, there are no concerns,” he said, internally cursing the prince. “Of course, they aren’t to be taken lightly, the Hell-Bards and I have taken all precautions to make sure you stay safe when they come before you.”

“Such as?” Henrick demanded, his volume rising. “What precautions?”

Aeduan rolled his wrists to give him something to be distracted by. Anything would do as long as it wasn’t fantasies of strangling the emperor. “Well, they’ll be surrounded by Hell-Bards at all times, and they both have heretic’s collars to make sure that they cannot use magic. Surely that is enough to protect Your Imperial Majesty.”

Leopold looked up again, his eyes staring directly into Aeduan’s. “Perhaps it would be better if you stayed as well while my uncle meets with the prisoners. That way, if they made any attempt at escape, you could incapacitate them like you did before.”

“Yes, a splendid idea!” Henrick exclaimed with a fierce tone that suggested nothing about the current situation was splendid. “You’ll come with me, Bloodwitch, and perhaps intimidate the prisoners into giving up some information while we’re at it. And then we can discuss your future opportunities for employment.”

“Future…opportunities?” Aeduan was rapidly losing patience with these thrice-damned Cartorrans.

The emperor scowled. “Well, yes, of course. You did well bringing my betrothed back to me, and you also discovered the plot against Cartorra. I would have many other chances for you to work for me.”

Given how reluctant he had been to pay Aeduan the first time, Henrick wouldn’t be on his list of top employers even if he was still a mercenary, but he merely gritted his teeth and nodded. “When do you want to talk to the prisoners?”

“Now!” Henrick shouted as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“All right then. Lead the way.” Aeduan followed Henrick down the hallway, and he was somehow unsurprised to see Leopold rolling up the paper and trailing after him. “What were you writing?” Aeduan muttered, so quietly that only the prince would be able to hear.

Leopold glanced at his uncle, looking visibly worried for a moment before his mask slipped into place again. “Wordwitched,” he whispered. “A friend.”

“A _friend_?” Aeduan mouthed, scarcely able to believe it. The prince was writing to a friend at a time like this?

Leopold bit his lip, then seemed to come to a decision, as though choosing how much to say now and how to say it. “Iseult,” he breathed, then tapped the paper with his fingers as though to indicate he had been communicating with her.

Aeduan didn’t dare to try and say anything else at that point—both out of fear that the emperor would hear and because he didn’t quite trust himself to continue on calmly. Leopold was communicating with Iseult through the Wordwitched paper? Was that what he had discussed with her in hushed whispers while giving her directions? What was she saying? Was she all right? Was she safe? Why hadn’t he been made aware of this?

Logically, he knew that he was making too much of this when there was likely a simple explanation for it. After all, Aeduan and Iseult had barely had a chance to talk to each other after the kiss—between healing the Hell-Bards and then hurriedly coming up with the plan—and for all he knew, Leopold could be lying about who he was talking to through the Wordwitched paper. For now, there were more important things to focus on.

Like Vivia and Stix being dragged into the throne room in front of a seething emperor, while Aeduan’s duty was to protect them while playing the part of protecting Henrick.

“What do you have to say for yourselves?” the emperor exploded, gesticulating wildly as he angrily paced back and forth. “You broke the Truce in the most _deceitful _of ways, you sought to _ruin_ my country, you _kidnapped_ my betrothed, and you _conspired_ with the Marstoks against me and my empire! Now you’ll pay the price for all your lies!”

Vivia raised her chin defiantly and stared at the emperor, raising her eyebrows slightly. She looked for all the world like she was impersonating Empress Vaness, and by the Wells, she was succeeding. “I’ll pay the price? At your hands?” She laughed. “I’m not impressed.”

Stix winced at the princess’s boldness, clearly worried about her. Even with a knife pressed to her side and soldiers all around her, she looked out for Vivia. _Affection_, Aeduan noted, mildly amused. It was something he’d always found quite confusing.

Henrick sputtered indignantly. “How _dare_ you act so arrogantly? You are at my mercy!”

“If my nature bothered you, you shouldn’t have sent a Bloodwitch to capture me.” Vivia shrugged. “I can only assume that you’re either hypocritical or foolish.”

“Uncle,” Leopold interjected before Henrick could really get upset. “Perhaps you should wait awhile longer until you’ve calmed down a bit more, and so that the prisoners can know exactly what’s at stake. No good will come over acting with quick tempers.”

Miraculously, the emperor took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “You’re right. I’ll think this serious matter over and come to a final decision tomorrow. We might have to delay their executions because of the other matter. Hell-Bards! Bring them back to the dungeons.”

The soldiers saluted and forcefully brought Vivia and Stix out of the room. Henrick, too, left without another word, leaving Aeduan and Leopold alone.

“What were you talking about?” Aeduan hissed immediately, turning to face the prince. “You’ve been communicating with Iseult?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“What do you mean, not exactly? You are either talking to a person or you’re not.”

“I wasn’t talking to her directly at first—I was talking to a friend of mine, Arida, who is currently with Iseult and the others—but long story short, they wanted to know it was really me, so she had to verify.”

“Where are they? What was she saying?”

Leopold laughed long and hard. “I knew that would be one of the first things you'd ask—about Iseult and what she said.” _What is that supposed to mean? _“If you come with me back to the library, I'll tell you about everything that's happened and we can figure out what we will do next. _And_ you'll be able to talk to Iseult.” He held up the paper.

Aeduan sighed at the prince's theatrics, but he'd be lying if he said his mind wasn't made up by the time Leopold mentioned Iseult and how they could communicate with her.

_Affection_, Aeduan noted again, no longer quite so amused when it wasn't Stix he directed the thought at. It was certainly a confusing thing.

Ryber liked to think of herself as a patient person, but even she had to admit that it was becoming more and more frustrating to stand over Arida’s and Iseult’s shoulders as they waited for a reply from Leopold. She hadn’t reached Merik’s level of annoyance yet and she doubted she would, but there were infinitely preferable methods of communication.

_My uncle wants to talk to Vivia and Stix_, the prince’s last message had read. _But before long, he’ll be too angry to continue._

For all the certainty behind those words, Leopold was taking a dreadfully long time to reply again, and Kullen had already voiced the concern that something unexpected had come up stopping him from continuing the conversation. Ryber had sighed and explained that it was very unlikely, but now she was having her doubts.

At the very least, they had managed to determine that Arida _was_ in fact talking to Leopold and not somebody else. Iseult had asked him a few questions that she promised only he would know, and he’d answered all of them correctly. Whether he could be completely trusted remained to be seen, but Ryber was inclined to believe he could. This was an elaborate setup for a betrayal, and he seemed to be earnest in his attempts to help them.

_I’m back_, appeared the inked words on the paper. _Aeduan is here now._

_He is?_ Iseult asked immediately, leaving Arida grasping at empty air when she had been reaching for the pen. Iseult had snatched it at once without letting the other girl write something first.

“Eager, aren’t you?” Arida asked with a laugh. Iseult looked at her blankly, then ducked her head as she evidently realized how quickly she had written the answer.

_Yes_, Leopold wrote. _He’s here and we just got back from talking to Vivia and Stix. Before you ask, they are perfectly fine._

Merik made an audible sigh of relief, and while Vaness would never be caught dead doing it too, her posture relaxed a little. “That’s good,” Cam said. “Can you ask him what we’ll be doing next?”

Arida took the pen from Iseult with a little shake of her head and bent over the paper. _It’s good to hear. What’s the next stage in the plan, Leopold?_

“He isn’t going to give a real answer,” Vaness predicted irritably. “It is what he does—he avoids questions and does nothing but show that he is lazy and cannot have the responsibility of his rank.”

“Well, we know that,” Iseult admitted. “But he isn’t stupid, and his plan is a good one.”

The empress exhaled sharply. “We don’t know anything _about_ the plan, so we can hardly make judgments. All he has done so far is lead us to this empty town and a girl that could very well be the enemy.”

“I’m not the enemy, and I’ve told you—”

Arida stopped talking as an answer appeared on the page. _It’s complicated. Things are changing._

“Are you kidding me?” Merik burst out. Ryber set her hand on his shoulder to calm him down, but she couldn’t deny she was thinking the same thing.

_Merik isn’t pleased with the answer, I think_, Arida replied, her handwriting elegant but simple, unlike Leopold’s elaborate calligraphy. _Could you be more specific?_

_Well, I’d hoped to station Caden, Lev, and Zander as the guards for Vivia and Stix so we could have constant means of contact from the dungeons to here. My uncle says he needs them for something else. If we don’t have reliable guards in the dungeon, it’ll be hard to free Eron fon Hasstrel._

That…that was definitely a setback. Ryber supposed it would be _possible_ to organize a break-in of the dungeons, statistically speaking, but their odds of making it back out with a live prisoner would be marginal at best.

Arida was silent for a moment, her fingers tapping against the tabletop as though mulling it over. Then she stopped abruptly. “I have an idea,” she murmured, turning to Iseult. “Between the two of us, we could easily get past the Hell-Bards.”

“Are you serious?” Iseult blinked. “We’re both Nomatsi. We would be killed on sight.”

“Of course we wouldn’t,” Arida insisted. “We aren’t just using a Wordwitched paper—I _am_ a Wordwitch, and if I want someone not to do something, they don’t do it.” She paused. “That came out much more threateningly than I’d intended, but I meant it in a good way. I’ll simply use my magic to charm them into letting us pass.”

Ryber thought this over. “It isn’t a bad idea, but you’re forgetting that the Hell-Bards are immune to magic. It won’t do anything.”

“Oh, but they aren’t immune to magic _forever_. Caden, Lev, and Zander were bound by the power of the noose not too long ago, yes? It just so happens that someone among us has the ability to free them from that half-life. Who knows? If Iseult does it, then they might seize the opportunity to rebel against the emperor who enslaved them by helping Eron—a former Hell-Bard—escape. And if they don’t? Then I’ll use my Wordwitchery and Eron still goes free. And Vivia and Stix, of course.”

It could be a trick, of course. There were a hundred ways this could go wrong, and given the appropriate amount of time and research, Ryber was certain she could calculate them all. But if it _did_ work…then Eron’s life would be saved. Safi wouldn’t be trapped in the engagement. Vivia and Stix would be free.

“It’s not just up to me,” Arida added, making eye contact with each person one by one. “But I think the risks are worth the possible reward. Should I tell Leopold about it or not?”

Iseult bit her lip indecisively, then nodded. “Tell him.”

Arida wrote out her idea hurriedly, and a long moment passed before Leopold answered.

_It’s crazy and impractical and we could all die. Aeduan is shaking his head furiously at the thought, though mainly at the idea of Iseult putting herself in that much danger. So many things could go wrong with this._ Another pause. _I love the idea, Arida. Let’s do it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will take us into the actual execution of Arida's new idea - beginning with Safi's POV and ending with Iseult's.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safi, Iseult, and the others must free Eron, Vivia, and Stix before it's too late - and with Arida's new plan, there's never been a better time than now. But when it comes to such tense matters of life and death, sometimes the ultimate sacrifice has to be made for the greater good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only have two words regarding this chapter: I'm sorry. I hope you trust that I have a plan for this and I didn't just write it this way for no reason.

“Safi.” The whisper cut through her dreams, pulling her away from memories of Veñaza City and Mathew’s coffee shop. Then it came again, louder. “_Safi_.”

She stirred, at first not quite processing the voice or what it was saying. Then she recalled she was in the emperor’s palace in Praga. What was someone doing in her room? Who was here?

Safi sat bolt upright, her shoulder colliding hard with the head of the person leaning over her. The room was too dark to tell exactly who it was, but they lurched backward upon the impact, muttering curses. Now that she was more coherent, the voice sounded familiar. Fumbling for her bedside table, she lit the lamp and blinked until her eyes adjusted to the light.

“Hell-gates, I was just trying to wake you up,” Caden muttered, hand cupping his head. “You didn’t have to try to fracture my skull.”

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, clutching fistfuls of her blankets. He couldn’t be here so late at night bringing good news. “Is something wrong? What’s going on?”

He hesitated. “It would take too long to explain,” he said. “Just get up and come with me.”

“Are you even allowed to be here?” Safi asked, still confused.

“Probably not,” Caden admitted, “but I didn’t have time to wait until morning when you woke up. Come on, Safi. Lev and Zander are waiting.”

She heard the urgency in his voice and knew this had to be serious. “Then leave so I can get dressed,” she said as she stood up, “and I’ll be out in a moment.”

“Be quick,” he told her before stepping out into the hall and closing the door behind him.

Safi had a brief moment of panic as she debated what to wear. She didn’t know what this emergency was and if they were going somewhere, all of the gowns in the guest room’s closet were thoroughly impractical. Still, she didn’t have any other options. Remembering that Caden was waiting outside, she ended up putting on a blue dress that hit just below her knees, thinking it would be the best for movement if it came down to that.

When she opened the door, he was looking exceptionally impatient. “Did I not say to be quick?” he whispered.

“I didn’t know what to expect, or if we’d have to move fast,” Safi muttered. “You couldn’t expect me to run wearing a ballgown, so I had to find something that would be sensible.”

Caden rolled his eyes. “Ever the practical, fashion-conscious domna. Now let’s _go_.”

“I don’t know where to go!”

With another eye-roll, Caden led her down the hallway and down a smaller corridor where they were less likely to be heard walking. “The emperor told us what our new assignment is,” he explained as he quickened his pace. “It’s…I never thought he would try to do this.”

Safi exhaled sharply. “Are you going to tell me what’s happened or not?”

“Once we get there,” he replied, gesturing for her to turn left. “Come on, move faster. We have to figure out what we’re going to do.”

“All right,” she said uneasily, her apprehension growing with every step. “Where we’re going—it is safe, isn’t it? The emperor won’t find us there?”

Caden shook his head. “He won’t, because he wouldn’t be caught dead in the dungeons. If anyone has questions about why you’re here, you had a nightmare that the prisoners had escaped and wanted to see for yourself that they were locked away. I brought you down to protect you while you checked that your kidnappers couldn’t escape.”

She had to admit that as far as excuses went, that wasn’t a bad one. But what she couldn’t imagine was what assignment they’d been given that was so terrible they had to discuss it and then make a plan for what to do about it.

They got to the door leading down to the dungeons and a guard at the door asked why they were here. “The domna had a nightmare that her kidnappers got away,” Caden answered smoothly. “It left her a little shaken up and paranoid, so I said I’d take her down to show her that they are perfectly secured. Just to ease her mind.”

Safi bit her lip and nodded, hoping that she looked suitably frightened.

“Of course,” the guard said, opening the door and gesturing for them to go inside. “Both of you, go ahead. It’s never a bad idea to make sure.”

Caden thanked him and led Safi down the staircase, which darkened with every step down. “Just a bit farther,” he told her. “Then I promise I’ll tell you everything.”

_You had better_. She still had no idea what was going on.

“Sir?” came Lev’s voice from around the corner. She stepped into view, illuminated by the light of a torch. “Oh, thank the gods. We all need to talk.”

Zander followed her from wherever they’d been before, his hand still heavily bandaged, but by the looks of his expression he was in significantly less pain. He didn’t say anything, but he did look preoccupied and pensive in a way that was oddly negative for Zander.

Caden glanced behind him as though to make sure they were alone and then turned to Safi. “Emperor Henrick told us what he wants us to do,” he began slowly, his tone making it clear that it was nothing good. “And Safi, even if it wasn’t a suicide mission—which it is—I…I thought there was no way he could be serious.”

“He was serious,” Lev put in.

Caden took a deep breath and then said it. “He wants us to kill Vaness.”

“_What?_” Safi exclaimed. The words seemed insane, _impossible_, but they rang with truth against her Truthwitchery. She was so unused to feeling that sensation when Caden spoke that at first she thought she’d been mistaken, but the logical part of her knew better. There was no reason why he would lie about this. All she could do was repeat what she’d said before. “What?”

“He meant it,” Zander said gravely. “The look in his eyes…he thought this was the answer to all his problems. He meant every word.”

For a moment, Safi was utterly speechless. Then: “He does realize that this is the perfect way to make sure Cartorra and Marstok will never be allies again?”

Caden shrugged helplessly. “I think that’s his point. He doesn’t want Marstok to ally itself with Cartorra because he doesn’t want Marstok to be _able_ to do that. If he ruins their government enough to make the country too weak to continue fighting any battles, then he wins the war and with it, the territory. It would show that he’s the stronger one, and he would gain another empire.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Safi muttered, and she knew that was putting it mildly. “How can he possibly expect to assassinate the ruler of a nation and get no resistance from the people? Come to think of it, how can he possibly expect three single people who can’t use magic to kill _Vaness_?” In spite of herself, she snickered, then laughed in earnest because it truly was such an absurd idea. The Empress of Marstok, Chosen Daughter of the Fire Well and Great Destroyer of Kendura Pass could not be assassinated by three single soldiers from another country, no matter how skilled they were. Either Henrick greatly underestimated her abilities or greatly overestimated his own. “Not to mention Vaness isn’t even in Azmir,” she added. “She’s with us wherever Leopold sent her.”

“It sounds funny, doesn’t it?” Caden asked bitterly. “It sounds like the emperor is a fool whose plan was destined to fail. Like it’ll be easy as breathing for the three of us to claim she isn’t in the capital and that we did the best we could. Doesn’t it?”

Safi blinked, knowing that of course it wouldn’t be _easy_ but that surely Henrick would (at some point) realize how little his idea made sense. “Yes,” she admitted. “Surely you could make an excuse, come up with a lie to explain why you couldn’t follow through. He’ll yell for an hour and then move on with his next hasty scheme.”

Lev shook her head. “He isn’t that forgiving.”

“If he’ll move on so easily,” Caden demanded, his voice rising, “explain why he laid out the consequences of failure very plainly. Explain why he made clear to us that the empress dies, or we do.”

Silence fell after those words. There were a thousand ways Safi wanted to curse Henrick’s name, but it wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t erase the fact that there was no way to get out of this.

_The empress dies, or we do._

“If we don’t do exactly as he says,” Caden continued, “he has promised that he’ll use the connection through the nooses to kill us. Only since Iseult bound our Threads, he can’t do that at all, and he’ll realize that we are free. _Then_ he’ll send other Hell-Bards to track us down and bring us back and send another group to do the job. Either way, the three of us are dead.”

Safi swallowed hard. “He can’t—”

“_And_ if he knows we’re free, then he will suspect that we’re plotting something.” Caden was normally calm and confident, or at least he did a good impression of it, but now his voice was bordering on hysterical. “Vivia and Stix will die. You’ll die. This is it. No matter what happens, we can’t do anything about it. We can’t do anything at all.”

She wanted to deny it. She wanted to say there was another way, a way where they could avoid Henrick’s plan and be breathing at the end of it. But Safi knew the truth of things and she couldn’t imagine how Caden, Lev, and Zander could make it out of this alive.

_This can’t be the way it ends. There has to be something we can do._

“There _is_ something we can do,” Lev said heavily, her face pale in the torchlight. “But it won’t be easy, and…sir, can I talk to you in private? No offense, Domna.”

Safi waved her hand to indicate that she didn’t mind—Lev would probably be used to going through ideas with her commander first, and anything would be a better alternative than what was at hand. Zander followed Caden and Lev around the corner to talk separately and for the first time in her life, Safi wasn’t tempted to eavesdrop. She was sure that she’d find out what they were discussing soon enough.

After a minute or so had passed, she realized that she was in the dungeons. She was in the dungeons of _Praga_. Uncle Eron had to be here somewhere.

Energy hummed through her veins, as sudden as the worry over Henrick’s new orders. Her uncle was down here, in one of the cells. She wanted to find him and reassure him that they were going to help him escape—but she didn’t know exactly where he was being held, and she didn’t want the Hell-Bards to finish talking and not be able to find her. Still…how many days were left until his execution? How long did he have?

She was so lost in these thoughts that she barely noticed someone else was underground until she heard footsteps directly behind her. She whirled around to find Leopold standing there and midsentence, apparently speaking to her. “—said the Hell-Bards are down here, and I need to talk to all of you. Arida and the others have a plan and they’re trying to do it now. Where are Caden, Lev, and Zander?”

“They’re trying to come up with a plan, and they said they had to talk privately,” Safi told him, still not entirely sure of what was going on. “Have you heard that your uncle wants them to kill Vaness? And will kill _them_ if they don’t?”

“Yes, which is why it’s so important we act now. Iseult and Arida will be trying to break into the dungeons from the outside and get Eron out, as well as Vivia and Stix. Their plan is a good one, but we’ll need to find out what to do with you. The emperor’s betrothed getting captured twice would be quite a story.”

The Hell-Bards arrived again, their eyes widening when they saw the prince. They all were visibly shaken up, even more so than before they’d left, and Caden was fingering his gold chain with an expression of pure anguish on his face. “You’re here,” he said to the prince, words shaky. “You’ve heard?”

“I have,” Leopold confirmed. “Iseult and Arida will be here any minute now to liberate the prisoners, and we can all get away together. You three will be safe, I promise.”

Lev shook her head again, her eyes shining. “Your Imperial Highness, the moment that they get into the dungeons, soldiers will swarm the cells to neutralize the threat. We’ll have only a few minutes, if that, to get Dom fon Hasstrel and the Nubrevnans out safely. At that point? It’ll be hard enough to get the rest out of the palace.”

“Someone has to stay behind and fight off those soldiers that attack,” Zander agreed. “Long enough for the others to make it out.”

It was only then that Safi realized what they were going to do.

Caden fell to his knees in front of Leopold and bowed his head. “Your Imperial Highness,” he said earnestly, and this time his voice didn’t tremble. “It’s been an honor to serve under your command.”

Iseult didn’t know how long they had been walking, but it had been long enough for Arida to remind her seven times that they were working together and that she was trustworthy. To be fair, Iseult acknowledged that four of the times might have been said simply for the sake of filling the silence. While Iseult herself didn’t talk much unless there was a need for it, Arida didn’t seem to like being quiet for long.

“It can’t be easy, of course, to know that I’m a Wordwitch,” Arida went on, gesturing with her hands as they kept walking. “But one of your mentors was a Wordwitch, Iseult, wasn’t he? Mathew fitz Leaux?” She seemed to think that mentioning details about Iseult’s life would make her exponentially more trustworthy, when in actuality it just made her apprehensive. “In any case, you know Leopold, and we’ve been working together for so long.”

Iseult made a humming noise to make it seem like she was contributing something to the very one-sided conversation.

“_And_ I’ve met the Hell-Bards too,” she added. “Caden, Lev, and Zander. We met twice, actually, though I only ever really talked to Lev. We got along well, though I could never stay for long because…well, because there were other things I had to do. In any case, we’re nearly at the palace now. Leopold said he’d tell Safi about our plan, so they might even be able to help us. That would be perfect, yes?”

“Yes,” Iseult said dutifully. She couldn’t deny that Arida was friendly, but by the Moon Mother, she never stopped talking.

She laughed, even though nothing was funny. “You’re uncomfortable,” she said, sounding apologetic. “I know that Threadwitches are quiet and reserved, and while you aren’t a Threadwitch you were raised as one—it’s just part of my nature to speak so much. We can spend the rest of the walk in silence if you like.”

“I don’t mind,” Iseult replied, and it was true. Being Threadsisters with Safi meant that she was used to being around people who liked to talk—she was only uncomfortable now because she barely knew Arida and felt that she was expected to share in the conversation.

“Yes, but all the same, it might be a good idea if I stop now because we’re getting closer,” she explained. “And we need the element of surprise if we’re going to get Dom fon Hasstrel, Princess Vivia, and Captain Sotar out of the dungeons.”

Iseult stopped walking. “Safi is coming with us,” she reminded Arida. “And Leopold and the Hell-Bards if they want to come.”

“Of course!” Arida looked genuinely shocked by the idea of leaving them behind. “I only mentioned the other three because they’re the prisoners—but of course Safi, Leopold, and the Hell-Bards are coming with us!”

With a nod, Iseult kept going. It wasn’t much longer until they arrived at the entrance to the palace, Arida at the lead.

“What business do you have here?” the guard asked gruffly.

“Let us into the palace,” Arida instructed him, and Iseult could _feel_ her Wordwitchery being used. It seemed to ring in the air and enhance her voice until it sounded almost musical. “Don’t tell anyone that we are here, and if someone asks if you let anybody in, the answer is no. Do you understand?”

The man nodded, his eyes distant and glazed over. He unlocked the gate and gestured for them to go ahead.

“Come on now,” Arida whispered to Iseult, her voice normal again. “Get ready to use your Weaverwitchery on the Hell-Bards that will be at the entrance to the dungeons. Then I’ll charm them into helping the prisoners escape.”

Iseult couldn’t help thinking that _charm_ was an appropriate way to describe the magic of a spy who was also friends with Leopold fon Cartorra. How many times had she thought to herself that the prince would be nowhere without his charm, and how many times had he himself said it? Though both Leopold and Arida were both useless when it came to violence or fighting, Iseult found herself realizing that the two could be very dangerous.

Her heart beat a little faster as they entered the palace and somehow managed to get through the hallways without running into more than one servant. Arida used her witchery on the young girl to ensure her silence, and they kept going faster than before. If Leopold hadn’t shared the directions to the dungeons via the Wordwitched paper, they would be hopelessly lost.

When they turned a corner and came to the Hell-Bard standing outside the door, Iseult immediately latched onto his Threads without preamble. She didn’t want to give him enough time to send an alarm. Still, she had to be careful. She wanted to bind his Threads to the weave, not accidentally kill him.

The man collapsed to the ground when she tightened her fist around the severed Threads, but began to stir as she efficiently bound them to the weave. What she had done with Caden, Lev, and Zander had given her much more confidence in her abilities.

“Get up,” Arida ordered, her voice filled with persuasion again. “Give us the keys to the cells that hold Dom fon Hasstrel and the Nubrevnan prisoners, then wait here. If anyone asks what happened, you lost the keys.”

The Hell-Bard was already handing over the keys, not seeming to notice that he was freed from his previous fate. Iseult felt oddly sorry for him, but she knew there were bigger priorities at the moment.

They took off down the stairs, but heard raised voices before they were even two steps down. That was Safi, definitely. And Caden.

Iseult got to the bottom of the staircase and ran to the sound of Safi’s voice, where she found her Threadsister close to tears and in a heated argument with Caden. “There’s another way! Don’t—Iseult?”

“Safi,” she gasped, out of breath from how fast she and Arida had been running to get here.

“Perfect,” Leopold said. “Arida, you’re here. I don’t know how long we have, so we have to get everybody out of here, now. Follow me, everyone, and we’ll get Eron fon Hasstrel, then Vivia and Stix.”

Iseult obeyed without question, not knowing how much longer it would be until someone realized that the dungeons had been infiltrated. She was worried about Safi—she’d seemed so close to crying when she was shouting at Caden, and she never shed tears during arguments—but at the moment, they couldn’t stop to make sure everyone was all right. They had to get everyone out of the cells first.

“Uncle!” Safi cried out, running forward to the bars of the cell where Eron was chained.

“Safiya?” he asked softly, rising to his feet. “You’re here!”

Arida surged forward, holding the key, and fumbled with the lock to his cell. “We’re going to help you escape,” she said, stepping inside and trying to unlock the chain that bound him to the wall. “Come with us and I promise you’ll be all right.”

Safi helped him walk out of the cell. “You’ll be fine, Uncle,” she said reassuringly, showing no indication of the frustration she always had when talking about him. “You’re safe.”

“I can walk on my own, Safiya,” Eron insisted, pushing away from her. “I’m sure you have other prisoners to free—I heard something about a Nubrevnan princess?”

Ah, so the dom _did_ know things. Safi merely nodded before they raced through the passage to get to Vivia and Stix, who were both sleeping in their cell. While Safi ungently told them to wake up, Arida unlocked them and frantically gestured for them to get out.

Then Iseult sensed the Threads—far enough away that they weren’t an immediate threat, but they would be within minutes. “People are coming,” she warned. “Hell-Bards and a few other soldiers. Too many for us to handle at the same time.”

“Damn it. Is there another way out of these dungeons?” Arida demanded.

“Yes,” Leopold answered, his Threads bright with alarm. “But it’ll take too long for us to get there without them catching up. We’re trapped.”

Lev pulled out her sword, an almost manic gleam in her eyes. “Not trapped. You all are valuable and important, and you need to escape. Go wherever the prince tells you to go, and don’t look back. I’ll delay them as long as I can.”

“_No!_” Safi exclaimed, jumping forward to stop Lev from going forward, but Caden grabbed her arms and restrained her.

Zander unsheathed his sword as well, taking a deep breath and then following after Lev. Together they ran back the way they’d come, despite Safi trying to break free of Caden’s grip and screaming for them to stop. Iseult was speechless—she barely knew Lev or Zander, but she was shocked by them making such a sacrifice to save the rest, because surely they couldn’t survive an attack against so many armed people. They were skilled, but they were human.

“How could you let them do this?” Safi yelled as she turned to Caden, her eyes shining with anger.

He gripped her shoulders, tears sparkling in his own eyes. “We were all going to die,” he said, his voice breaking. “All of us. If the three of us stalling for time makes the rest of you live…we have to try.” He drew in a shaky breath. “When Lev had the idea and pulled us both aside, Zander immediately agreed. They _begged_ me to let them sacrifice themselves because they knew it was smart, but since I outrank them, I could order them not to. So yes, I let them do this and yes, I hate myself for it. But giving up three lives for the sake of six others is something I’m willing to do.”

“Three?” Safi stared at him, horrified. “You’re not going too!”

“Yes, I am! When Lev and Zander go down, there won’t be anything stopping the others from going straight through here and to the door. I have to hold them off. Now stop standing here and go!”

Leopold tried to tug Safi away, but she stayed.

“Come on,” Arida pleaded, helping Leopold try to pull Safi back. “It’s horrible that it’s come to this, but we can’t throw all of our lives away. Otherwise this will have been for nothing!”

“I can’t leave you behind!” Safi exclaimed, tears streaming down her face as she stared at Caden, her gaze flicking back to where Lev and Zander had left.

Caden leaned in closer for emphasis, blinking rapidly. “You came here to save your uncle, and you’ve saved him. Vivia and Stix are free, which is what you wanted. We’ve done exactly what we came here for, and only three casualties will come out of it, as long as you get out of here right now and don’t slow down.” When she showed no sign of moving, he gave her shoulders a little shake and added, “Don’t you _dare_ let Lev’s and Zander’s sacrifices be in vain.”

That did it, and Safi threw her arms around Caden, holding on like she’d never let go. He hugged her back, holding on tightly before letting go and pushing her back roughly. He drew his sword and looked back at Safi one last time. “Don’t look back,” he whispered before assuming a fighting stance and waiting, presumably, for the soldiers to come.

Waiting to die.

It killed Iseult to do it, but she grabbed Safi’s hand and took off down the passageway and followed Leopold along with the others. Arida kept a firm grip on Eron’s arm to make sure that he didn’t get separated from the others, and Vivia and Stix stayed side by side as they sprinted toward the other door.

When they finally made it to the exit, Leopold immediately flung open the door and Iseult found herself outside, presumably in the palace grounds. It was oddly peaceful in the world outside those dungeons, like everything that had happened down there was an illusion. Iseult wished it had been.

Wordlessly, Leopold gestured for them to go into the forest that led away from Praga itself and out of sight from the palace. Arida followed, with Eron close by and the rest trailing after. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed, but finally the prince stumbled to a stop when they were well beneath the shelter of the dense trees.

“We won’t be able to stay here for long,” Arida said breathlessly. “We’ll have to get back to that village. The others will be waiting for us.”

Iseult knew that was true, but right now she was more focused on her Threadsister. Now that the adrenaline had worn off and they weren’t in active danger, Safi had broken down crying, her breaths shallow gasps and her shoulders shaking with sobs. Iseult wrapped her arms around her, trying to comfort her as best as she could, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. She had lost three friends in just a few minutes. There was no way that they could survive an attack against so many people, no matter how much they might hope.

She could hear Vivia awkwardly muttering something to Stix, the words unintelligible, and Eron asked Leopold something that was also too quiet to hear. Or Iseult was just too distracted, or the sound of Safi’s crying was drowning out the other words. All she knew was that, even if they didn’t know what to do next, they had to do _something_. They had to honor the sacrifice the Hell-Bards had made.

_Don’t let it be in vain._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will have POVs from Merik and Vivia, and should be up before too long!


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With heavy hearts, the two groups are reunited once again after the bittersweet rescue of Vivia, Stix, and Eron from the dungeons of Praga. In such dangerous times, the only hope is hope itself - which is becoming increasingly difficult to find. New plans must be created before the sacrifices that have been made prove to be for nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there is some Vix in this one. ;) Enjoy!

Merik had never been an exceptionally patient person, a fact mentioned to him by Vivia all too many times growing up. He readily admitted that he had a short temper, and waiting for a long period of time was always next to torturous for him. But he would have _thought_ that nervousness about waiting would be perfectly reasonable when one’s sister was in the dungeons of an evil emperor and her rescuers were being much slower than anyone had anticipated.

“Sit down,” Kullen said for the fourth time, interrupting Merik’s anxious pacing. “Making yourself frantic won’t make Iseult and Arida go any faster. You just have to trust them.”

“I _do_ trust them,” he explained, resuming his pacing. “But what if something’s happened? Then they’ll be in the dungeons too, and Vivia will still be there. And Safi will be trapped in Praga too.”

His Threadbrother sighed. “I know, but nothing good will come of worrying. There’s a perfectly good chance that everything has worked out perfectly, and they’re just taking their time getting back.”

“I agree with Prince Merik,” Vaness commented, her face impassive but her voice laced with anxiety. “We have too much at stake to risk two people going by themselves to free the others from Praga. It was a foolish thing to do.”

“We didn’t have another choice though,” Cam argued. “Dom fon Hasstrel’s execution date was too soon for us to come up with another plan, and there would have been a risk in anything we did.”

Ryber looked up from the blank Wordwitched paper she had been staring at, playing with the corners of the page absently. “You’re right, Cam, but I don’t like this either. The last message that Leopold sent us was the one saying that he, Safi, and the Hell-Bards would somehow help Iseult and Arida free the prisoners. Nothing else after that. Not only did he say nothing about Aeduan, but it was a very sudden message that didn’t explain much at all.”

“See?” Merik demanded, getting no gratification from someone agreeing with him. “There are so many things that could have gone wrong. They could be in chains right now for all we—”

“They’re coming!” Cam exclaimed from the window, gesturing toward the outside of the inn urgently. They’d still gotten no explanation for why the village was abandoned, but there were unmistakable figures coming up towards the inn. As they got closer, Merik could see that Iseult, Arida, Safi, Leopold, Vivia, Stix, and a man who must be Dom fon Hasstrel were all there.

_They’ve returned! They’re safe!_

Nothing struck him as wrong about the group outside until Ryber joined Cam at the window and frowned. “Not everybody is there,” she murmured. “Aeduan isn’t, and neither are the Hell-Bards.”

Merik rushed forward to open the door and let everyone inside. He immediately focused on Vivia, who was standing directly next to Stix, and he surged forward to embrace her. She was here, she was all right. No injuries that he could see. “You’re alive,” he said gratefully. “I was so worried.”

“Yes, well I’m fine, Merry,” she replied, hugging him back, but her voice was almost dead. Empty. Like something had happened while they were escaping.

He pulled away to ask his sister what was the matter, and then he noticed that Safi had obviously been crying. Her eyes were red and puffy and her cheeks were flushed. She seemed to be weighed down, grief written on every inch of her face instead of relief at being away from Praga and Emperor Henrick.

“What’s wrong?” Merik asked, instantly on guard.

Safi opened her mouth to replied, but Iseult wrapped her arms around her Threadsister and whispered something. Safi fell silent, visibly blinking back more tears, and Iseult answered instead of her. “Soldiers showed up as we were trying to escape,” she explained gently. “There wasn’t time for us to get away unless someone held them off for as long as they could. Caden, Lev, and Zander sacrificed themselves.”

There was a long pause. They had known from the beginning, of course, that some people might not make it out of this alive—but somehow that possibility had felt far away, too distant for it to pose a threat now. Merik had barely known the Hell-Bards, but they had seemed like brave and good people who didn’t deserve to die, especially not so soon after they had been freed from the noose.

“Is there any way they could be alive?” Ryber asked hopefully.

“No,” Arida said, her eyes shining. “I-I mean, we didn’t see them die, but there’s no way they could have made it out. They were drastically outnumbered. Even if the soldiers didn’t kill them, the emperor would.”

Safi sat down at one of the tables, her breaths shaky like she was about to break down again over what had happened, not uttering a word. It was the silence, even more than the tears, that worried Merik—it took a lot to make Safiya fon Hasstrel speechless.

Vaness, too, was utterly silent, her face pale and her eyes wide. She stared at Iseult and Arida, seemingly unable to fathom what they had told her. Then, quietly: “Tell me everything.”

“I wasn’t there for the entire thing,” Iseult said, sitting beside Safi and placing a hand on her shoulder. “Only the end.”

Safi took a deep, shuddering breath and began. “C-Caden woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me that something had happened. We went down to the dungeons so nobody would overhear. Lev and Zander were there too, and they told me what Henrick’s new assignment for them was.” She turned to Vaness. “He wanted them to kill you.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Vivia snapped. “Why would he want that? The war between Marstok and Cartorra would never end if that happened.”

Merik had to agree with his sister. Not only was it a poor strategic move, but the thought that it could even be accomplished was absurdity. Vaness was arguably the most intimidating person in all the Witchlands, and a poorly-executed assassination attempt wouldn’t take her life.

“Wait,” Dom fon Hasstrel said softly. “That’s—that’s the empress of Marstok. What are you all doing with—”

“Don’t you dare!” Safi yelled, her voice anguished and bordering on hysterical. Her uncle flinched as she surged to her feet, her hands shaking with fury. “Don’t you _dare_! We all helped you escape from certain death, and you want…what? Us to leave Vaness behind when she’s been nothing but a loyal ally and a good friend? To finish what Mathew and Habim couldn’t? Yes, I know about that,” she added fiercely at his stricken look. “Do you not trust me at _all_? Not enough people have died today?”

Dom fon Hasstrel held up both of his hands, presumably to calm her down, but she seemed past that point. “I regret the losses,” he replied. “They were good soldiers. But Safiya, you don’t understand. She—”

“I understand perfectly!” Safi was sobbing now, and her words were angry shrieks thrown at her uncle. Merik wanted to go to her and do something, anything that would comfort her, but he had no idea what he could say that wouldn’t make it worse. “I lost three friends so we could save your life, so don’t you dare doubt the loyalty of a fourth! Vaness is brave and honest and it’s no business of yours whether she helps us or not. If you—”

“The consequences will be—”

“You have no right—”

“I don’t think that—”

“Stop!” Safi screamed, definitely crossing the line into hysteria. “I don’t care if you have doubts about Vaness. I don’t care if you disagree with everything we’re doing here. We saved you. _They_ saved you. Don’t…don’t dishonor that.” Her words ended in a whisper, tears running down her face, the anger seeming to melt away as she sank back down in her chair.

Dom fon Hasstrel didn’t look happy and it didn’t seem like he had let it go, but seeing his niece like that seemed to calm him momentarily. He nodded once as though to stop mentioning the topic, and Vaness gestured for someone to continue explaining what had happened in the dungeons of Praga.

“They told me that the emperor wanted them to murder you,” Safi went on shakily, “and that if they failed, he would kill them. They…they looked so hopeless. When Leopold showed up and said that Arida and Iz were coming, they acted like it was their death sentence. I-I still thought we would all make it out alive.”

The normally placid Empress Vaness was looking distinctly troubled, more so as Safi kept telling her what had happened to the Hell-Bards. Merik found himself wondering if the empress had been closer to Caden, Lev, and Zander than she admitted to even herself.

“And wh-when we were freeing Vivia, Stix, and my uncle, soldiers arrived at the dungeons. We had to get out, but there wasn’t time unless someone delayed the soldiers as long as they could. Lev…Lev just ran ahead to hold them off.”

“It was—it was so heroic of her,” Arida added. Merik hadn’t noticed before now that she, too, was crying.

Safi nodded tearfully. “We couldn’t even say goodbye. Zander followed her to help delay the soldiers. And then Caden….” She trailed off and Iseult embraced her tightly before continuing the story instead of her Threadsister.

“Caden insisted on remaining behind to buy more time,” Iseult explained. “There was nothing we could do but run while the Hell-Bards stayed behind—if we didn’t, then we all would have been killed.”

“And there’s absolutely no way that they could have survived?” Ryber asked a second time, looking less optimistic now.

Arida shook her head. “Judging from the footsteps, there were easily more than a dozen armed soldiers against three people. I wish it were possible, but I can’t give false hope.”

Vaness blinked once, then twice, then a third time before a mask settled over her face and she assumed the forced calm that the empress typically possessed—only this time it was clearly a façade. “And where is the Bloodwitch? He has not returned with you.”

_Interesting_, Merik thought as Iseult looked down and fidgeted with her hands. She didn’t normally have such nervous energy.

“He is still in Praga,” Leopold explained. “In the castle. Don’t worry, he’s safe—but there simply wasn’t time for us to come up with an excuse for him leaving, and things are better off this way. I left a message for him, so we can communicate through the paper and he can spy on my uncle to report his schemes.”

“Then why aren’t we using the paper to talk to him now?” Kullen asked. “If we’ve ever needed help from someone who is inside the palace, now is the time.”

The imperial prince nodded thoughtfully. “We can write now, though it’s a real possibility that he will be unable to answer for a while yet. After what has just happened, no doubt my uncle will want to talk to him immediately.”

“For the time being,” Safi said thickly, “we need to do _something_.”

Vivia was ashamed to admit that she was paying very little attention to what the others were saying—so little attention, in fact, that she would not be surprised if someone had said her name at one point and she’d showed no recognition. It was wrong, she knew, especially after such an important thing had happened. They should all be strategizing, and as the rightful queen of Nubrevna, she should be playing a prominent role in it. But instead she was sitting beside Stacia Sotar, and they were both free from the Pragan dungeons, and she could feel her face growing hotter with every word they spoke.

She felt weighed down by the guilt of knowing that the Hell-Bards had willingly sacrificed themselves so that _she _could live. She could easily imagine doing such a thing for someone she cared about—Stix, of course, and her brother—but the idea that three near strangers had done it for her? It was almost unthinkable.

But even _more_ unthinkable than what the Hell-Bards had done was the fact that Stix kept leaning closer, her voice low as she definitely came a bit nearer than was necessary for Vivia to hear her. _It doesn’t mean anything_, she told herself. _She must be just shaken up from the dungeons. Noden knows we all are._

“Are you all right?” Stix asked quietly, meeting Vivia’s gaze. “After what happened in the cell….”

Ah, yes. Vivia felt herself blushing even more at the reminder of her breakdown, which seemed much longer ago than it had actually been. She had meant what she said—the weight of all the expectations was getting to be overwhelming, and being locked in an enemy dungeon had been the culmination of her anxiety. She was embarrassed at having fallen apart like that, but she would be lying if she claimed that she didn’t still remember the feel of Stix’s fingers brushing hers. _Then give yourself the time you need to be put back together_.

“I’m fine,” Vivia said aloud, shaking her head a little to ground herself in practical thoughts that didn’t involve Stix’s soft words and gentle touch. That didn’t involve the breathless feeling Vivia got when Stix was too close, like she was now, or the warmth creeping across her face even though the air was cold.

It didn’t work.

“Back in the dungeons,” Stix began, not breaking eye contact with Vivia, “you were about to say something to me. Before those Hell-Bards came to take us to the emperor.”

_Noden’s coral throne and all of the Hagfishes._ She had forgotten all about that, and the memory threatened to push her over the edge of mortification. She had been telling Stix that she didn’t deserve a friend like her, which Vivia still maintained to be true, but it was what had almost followed that made her want to hide. _You’re so_—

“I-I…” Vivia was stammering so badly that she couldn’t explain herself, or even make up something else that she could claim she had meant to say. Instead she fell silent, waiting for her friend to press the matter.

But she didn’t. Contrary to what was expected, Stix actually ducked her head and broke the eye contact with Vivia as though suddenly made very uncomfortable. Was…was she blushing? _No. She can’t be blushing. Not possible._

Vivia forced herself to look away from Stix long enough to scan the others and see if there were any immediate questions she was supposed to be answering. She hadn’t listened to a single word since Safi said that Henrick wanted Vaness dead, because she had been distracted by Stix. As it was, she thought it might be a good thing that she wasn’t focusing on the others, because she would feel out of place. While she certainly wished the Hell-Bards had not died, she didn’t mourn as deeply as Safi did, and it would be even more awkward.

Stix looked up and met Vivia’s gaze again, her face still slightly flushed, but her eyes a bit less timid and a bit bolder. “Y-you never finished your sentence.”

“No, I didn’t.” _What an obvious thing to say. _“I-I mean…I—”

“Are you two listening?” Vaness snapped, her voice even sharper than usual. Its edge was likely because of the Hell-Bards, and Vivia knew it. “We have a great deal of things we need to do, and”—she sighed, a sound laced with grief and exhaustion— “and we have very little time in which to do them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will have both Aeduan's and Safi's POVs. I hope you liked this!


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the midst of grieving and hurried strategizing, a seemingly impossible discovery is made that could change the plan and the lives of those contributing to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that summary was really brief. I couldn't think of a good one this time lol. This chapter has Aeduan's and Safi's POVs. Enjoy!

It wasn’t like Aeduan to admit it, even to himself, but he was worried. Everything had happened so quickly that there had only time for Leopold to offer a quick explanation before he left to help the others escape from the dungeons. He had expressly told Aeduan to stay, so that he would not be implicated in the rescue attempt and he could continue spying on Henrick—but that did not stop his mind from racing with possibilities about what had happened.

Iseult would be down there, helping free the others. He wasn’t sure what he feared more—the possibility that something would happen to her in the attempt, or the fact that if something _did_ happen, he would have no knowledge of it. He would have no way of knowing.

If he was being reasonable, he would admit to himself that the odds were very low that the rescue attempt wasn’t finished by now. For better or for worse, it must be over at this point. The question was whether there were more people in the dungeon than before, or less.

It would be easy to check, now that Aeduan thought about it. All he would have to do was claim that he wanted to make sure the prisoners were secure, and no guard would question what a Bloodwitch decided to do.

He was halfway to the dungeons when he was stopped in the hallway by none other than Emperor Henrick. The sudden arrival had him gritting his teeth in annoyance. The last thing he wanted right now was to talk to Henrick fon Cartorra.

“Where are you going, Bloodwitch?” the emperor spat with unexpected venom. Henrick always seemed to be angry over some trivial matter, but this was more than that.

“To the dungeons,” Aeduan said smoothly. “I wanted to ensure that the prisoners are safely locked away.”

Henrick glowered up at him, his shoulders all but shaking with fury. “That would be the problem, wouldn’t it?” he demanded. “They’re not. They got away…though not on their own. They had help, including three of _my own _Hell-Bards.”

_So Vivia, Stix, and Dom fon Hasstrel escaped. Did Iseult get away?_ “This is certainly very unfortunate, but I cannot see how it concerns me.”

“This concerns everyone!” Henrick exclaimed, beside himself. “They were the ones that I ordered to kill Empress Vaness of Marstok, and they betrayed me. They shouldn’t be capable of committing treason, with their nooses! This is not possible, and yet it happened. Worst of all, the domna is gone too—Safiya fon Hasstrel. Either they took her again, which I am finding unlikely, or she willingly left.”

“So all of the prisoners got away?” _What about the people who were not prisoners?_

Henrick gestured wildly with his hands. “It would seem so! To make matters worse, I also cannot find my nephew, which leads me to believe that they have taken him too. They _must_ have had help to do such a thing…they _must_ have. I cannot believe that such a thing happened within my own palace!”

Aeduan stayed silent, knowing that no good would come over trying to ask the emperor rational questions when he was like this. Instead he tried to think logically about what must have happened. Henrick was focusing on the Hell-Bards and their betrayal, but he had said nothing about any other particular people who had helped the prisoners escape. Aeduan had to assume that if anything had happened to Iseult or she had gotten captured, Henrick would be currently shouting about the Nomatsi who managed to get into the Pragan dungeons. He hadn’t yet said a thing about anyone other than Caden, Lev, and Zander—which meant that they were the only three who hadn’t made it out.

“If I paid you, Bloodwitch,” the emperor continued, “would you track those lying traitors again and bring them back?”

Aeduan closed his eyes. “With all due respect, Your Imperial Majesty, I have no way of knowing which direction they went. Or where they will go, or how they will go there. In fact, I do not even know the blood-scents of all of them. All things considered, the odds are slim that I will be able to track them down again.”

Henrick looked shocked. “But—but you are a Bloodwitch! Surely you would be able to do such a thing?”

Was he convinced that Aeduan’s Bloodwitchery made him a miracle worker? “I could try, though the cost would be high.” _I most definitely would _not_ try, but you are welcome to think otherwise._ “And you would have to tell me exactly what happened in the dungeons when they managed to escape.”

“It might be easier to bring you to the place itself,” Henrick said, much calmer now that Aeduan had said he would try. “Some of my Hell-Bards also found these papers in Dom fon Hasstrel’s estate after he was detained, but I haven't had the time to take a look at them. I thought you could take them and find out what his motives were.” He handed the papers to Aeduan.

Not just a miracle worker, but a scholar who had the time and interest to do such a thing. “I…will look them over later, when I have the time.”

“In the meantime then, you can come with me,” the emperor barked. “To the dungeons where it happened.”

Aeduan followed, though he couldn’t help but wonder what might await when he got there. He was now the only one of their group left in Praga, and he had no idea what the others might be doing while he was here.

When they got to the door that led down to the dungeon, they were faced by a Hell-Bard standing guard. He bowed upon seeing the emperor and let them pass—whereupon Aeduan could sense three blood-scents that he hadn’t at all expected.

How were they alive? Granted, he had not seen what kinds of odds they were up against, but it hadn’t seemed likely.

“Those are the three traitors,” Henrick spat, gesturing towards the cell where Caden, Lev, and Zander were imprisoned. “Look at them, defying their empire and betraying their country. It’s despicable.”

Aeduan wasn’t listening to the emperor, and took a step closer to see if he could determine their injuries. Lev lay on the stone floor of the dungeon, the other two huddled beside her and clearly trying to stop a wound in her side from bleeding. Caden was doing this as best as he could one-handed, his right wrist cradled in front of him and seemingly broken. Zander alone seemed unhurt.

The emperor said something about Aeduan leaving before the end of the day to track the other prisoners, but he was only half-listening. Though he barely knew the Hell-Bards, he knew that he had to get them out of the dungeons before it was too late—which, given the fact that Henrick would probably want the execution date as soon as possible, wouldn’t be long at all.

Aeduan extended his senses to determine how badly Lev was wounded. It was hard to tell without being closer, which he couldn’t do while Henrick was watching, but it seemed serious. Caden and Zander were helping bandage the wound as best as they could with fabric from their cloaks, but she was still losing blood. She was lucky that the blade had missed her vital organs, or she would have been dead already.

“Are you listening, Bloodwitch?” Henrick snapped, and Aeduan immediately focused on the emperor again. “This is of the highest importance! I need my betrothed back here immediately, and the Nubrevnans have to face justice for what they’ve done!”

It struck Aeduan as odd that the emperor would care so little for the fate of his nephew, the imperial heir to the throne of Cartorra. He had only mentioned Leopold once so far, focusing on Safi, Vivia, Stix, and the Hell-Bards much more.

“Of course,” he said with forced respect in his tone. “I will be ready within the hour, Your Imperial Majesty, and I will bring them back.”

“Good.” Henrick glowered toward the Hell-Bards, who didn’t seem to notice there were others in the dungeons. Lev appeared to be half-conscious, and Caden and Zander weren’t paying attention to anything but her. “And I will pay any price this time, Bloodwitch. This is far too important for it to be done incorrectly.”

Aeduan had been a mercenary for long enough that a part of him was tempted. Then, of course, he remembered that he would have nothing to do with the money and no direction after it was over. So he merely inclined his head and left the dungeons with the excuse of preparing for his upcoming journey.

He would go to the library, where Leopold had told him he kept the Wordwitched paper that connected to Arida’s, and he would inform the others of what had happened. Carawen monks weren’t supposed to do anything out of emotion, but even he knew it would not be right to let the others continue thinking the Hell-Bards were dead for any longer than they had to. Then, before anything else could go wrong, he would rescue Caden, Lev, and Zander and leave Praga entirely. No good would come from staying here, and there was no time to waste.

As a Bloodwitch, he didn’t worry about the plausibility of breaking three people out of a dungeon by himself. Even if all of the guards were Hell-Bards, he highly doubted they were more proficient than him with weapons. If he did this properly, there would be as few casualties as possible and it would be over as quickly as it had started.

Aeduan began to unfold the papers Henrick had given him as he walked, mildly curious as to what they might contain. Correspondence between Dom fon Hasstrel and some other person, apparently? But he stopped himself before beginning to read. There would be time later, and Safiya would probably want to see the pages. Besides, time he spent reading was more time that the Hell-Bards spent in the cell, and less time that Lev had left.

When he finally got to the library, he immediately put the pen to the paper and hoped that someone, wherever they were by now, was waiting.

_The Hell-Bards are alive._

The air was subdued, and for once Safi felt no urge to break up the silence. How could this have happened? How could the Hell-Bards have gone from alive and smiling to dead and gone? It seemed so impossible, so _wrong_ that she would’ve thought it was a nightmare if she didn’t know that she would have woken up now.

Merik and Cam had both tried to cheer her up, but to no avail. Iseult, of course, had never left her side since it happened, but at least her Threadsister didn’t try to bring a smile to her face. Leopold and Arida also seemed to understand—normally, neither of them ever stopped talking, but they had been silent for as long as everyone else had. 

Not too long ago, Safi would have never expected she’d feel this way over the deaths of three Hell-Bards, let alone the Chiseled Cheater and his two best friends. But somehow that made it even worse, the fact that they had all had so little time together. She had been friends with Caden, Lev, and Zander for just a few short weeks, and now she had lost all that time ahead of them. Who knew what could have been?

“Where do we go from here?” Arida asked hoarsely, not seeming to be addressing a specific question. Or, for that matter, even expecting an answer.

Safi shook her head wearily. “I-I don’t know,” she admitted.

“I’m so sorry,” Vivia blurted out, looking on the verge of tears herself even though she had barely known the Hell-Bards.

All eyes turned to her. “Why are you sorry?” Vaness asked.

Vivia blinked like it was obvious. “This is all my fault. You all were coming to rescue _me_ down there, and if I hadn’t been in the dungeons then they never would have had to sacrifice themselves. They would still be alive.”

“I was in the same cell as you,” Stix said, almost fiercely, “and Dom fon Hasstrel was in the dungeons as well. And none of us were to blame for what happened, _especially _not you. Vivia, you need to stop blaming yourself for things—there was nothing you could have done.”

“Besides, whose idea was this whole thing in the first place?” Leopold asked. In all the years of knowing him throughout her childhood, she had never seen him looking so defeated, so full of guilt. “I suggested the plan and everyone else went along with it having some degree of reluctance.”

Arida took a shaky breath. “It’s not your fault, Leopold. It was me who came up with the idea for Iseult and I to get everybody out by ourselves. I should have given it more thought first. I should have—”

“Stop,” Ryber ordered. “Everybody stop. Taking the responsibility for this is not going to change what happened, and you all are going to tear yourselves apart over it. We have to move forward instead of dwelling on whose fault it is.”

Safi knew that Ryber was right, but that didn’t make her feel any less guilty. She should’ve done more to stop Lev from going forward, or Zander, or pleaded with Caden until he had no choice but to come with them. “It’s—”

“Look at this,” Iseult interrupted, looking up from the Wordwitched paper that had, up until this point, been blank. “Come look at this.”

Safi stood up and went over to stand behind her Threadsister and see what the paper said, the others following. Aeduan must have gotten the opportunity to communicate with them, and hopefully they would be able to work out the rest of the plan’s details. But instead, the words she saw were impossible ones.

_The Hell-Bards are alive._

“What?” Safi gasped, leaning forward to read it again. The words were there, clear against the white paper, so she knew they must be true—but how? How was it possible that they could have survived?

Iseult picked up the pen and immediately wrote a response. _How? Where are they?_

There was a long pause, and Safi held her breath, waiting to see what Aeduan would say. The wait was excruciating, and her heart was racing. Caden, Lev, and Zander were alive? Were they injured? How would they escape?

_I do not know how_, Aeduan answered. _I haven’t talked to them, but I did see them. They are in the dungeons. The emperor is furious over their betrayal._

Safi had a hundred questions she wanted to ask, but she couldn’t find the words to ask them. New hope flooded through her, a sudden and welcome sensation after so much pain.

_Are they hurt?_ Iseult asked, ever the practical one. Injuries would affect how easy it would be to get the Hell-Bards free.

_Zander is fine. _Safi drew in a shuddering breath at the obvious implication that Caden and Lev weren’t. _From what I could tell in the dark, Caden had a broken wrist; maybe more, though, because there was only one torch and I wasn’t allowed inside the cell. Lev must have gotten stabbed by one of the soldiers._

“Stabbed?” Safi asked weakly, her voice dull. “Will…she make it?”

Iseult quickly transcribed the question, the letters less legible than normal in her haste.

_I don’t know. As I said, I could not get close enough to see how bad it was, but Caden and Zander were panicking, trying to help her. My plan is to free them and leave the palace as soon as we are done communicating. I do not know when the execution will be, but surely soon._

Nobody argued. Iseult hurriedly told Aeduan to be careful, and then there was nothing that they could do. It was far out of their hands now, and in those of a Bloodwitch alone in Praga.

Safi didn’t know what to say. She was all but speechless with happiness at the unexpected news, mingled with the fear over Lev and how the rescue attempt would go. When someone finally broke the silence, it was Arida, and she sounded as emotionally exhausted as Safi felt.

“He’s going to get them free. They’re going to be all right.”

It sounded less like a reassurance and a bit too much like a prayer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the chapter!! The next one will be from Safi's POV.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends are returned to the others in an emotional reunion. Meanwhile, questions are raised as to the loyalty of a certain person and Aeduan remembers the letters that Emperor Henrick had given him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this would have Stix and Safi POVs but...that didn't quite work out lol. So this chapter is just Safi, actually. Hope you like it!

The wait was agonizing. Safi felt helpless, knowing that Aeduan was actively helping the Hell-Bards escape and she had no way of knowing how the exact attempt was going. Were they already out of the dungeons by now and on their way to meet the others? Had something gone wrong?

_No. Don’t think about that._

Her uncle was resting in one of the inn’s rooms, for which Safi was grateful. She did not want to have to deal with him at the moment when she was so anxious over the fate of the Hell-Bards.

She had no idea how much time had passed when Cam jumped up from his position by the window eagerly. “Someone is coming in this direction from the forest!”

Safi was out the door as soon as he said it, not paying any attention to the words of those around her, even though they were probably the wise ones.

“At least wait to make sure it’s really them first!” Ryber tried desperately to reason with her.

She did not wait.

Without thinking, Safi ran towards the cloaked figure emerging from the forest. She knew, looking back on it, that it could’ve been a trap and she would have still gone in that direction. By the time she drew closer, she saw that it was no trap at all.

“Caden!” She sped up until she reached her friend, hugging him tightly in an embrace that nearly knocked him over from the force of her running. He drew in a sharp breath at the impact, and she immediately pulled away to see what was wrong. His right hand was cradled in front of him, and his wrist was clearly broken—it was badly swollen and at a painfully unnatural angle. “I’m sorry,” she said, tears streaming down her face at the proof in front of her that he wasn’t dead. That somehow, against all logic, they had survived those impossible odds. “You’re alive—_how_ are you alive? You’re here.”

Caden wrapped his uninjured arm around her, and she could feel that he was shaking. “Lev is hurt,” he murmured urgently. “I promise I’ll tell you everything, Safi, after we help her. I-I thought we were all going to die down there, but when we didn’t, I knew there was a chance we’d all survive. We can’t lose her now. We can’t.”

“Where is she?” Safi asked, reluctantly pulling away from his embrace. “And Zander? Where are they?”

“Just a little behind me,” Caden answered. “Aeduan is with them. We—they’re coming. Come on.”

Safi glanced behind Caden and saw that Aeduan was carrying Lev, Zander moving at a much faster pace to catch up to them first. At this point, Iseult had rushed forward from the other side, her arms full of healing supplies from the inn. The others followed closely.

Before long, Aeduan and Lev had come forward and Safi pushed past Caden to get to her other friend. Lev’s face was ghostly white, and her green eyes were glassy and dull. She seemed only barely conscious. “Lev,” Safi whispered, frantically trying to see where she was injured.

“She was s-stabbed in the side,” Aeduan mumbled. Safi glanced up from Lev, confused by how the Bloodwitch was slurring his words. Before she could ask what happened, his knees buckled and he collapsed. Safi instinctively tried to catch him, but his weight and Lev’s was too much, and all three of them ended up on the ground.

“What’s going on?” Iseult asked, kneeling down beside the others and setting aside the healing supplies. “Aeduan, are you hurt too?”

He shook his head, but he was pale and his hands were shaking. His eyes glowing red, he gripped Lev’s hand tightly and motioned for Iseult to come closer. “I’ve b-been stopping the wound from bleeding,” he explained, to Safi’s astonishment. She hadn’t known it was possible for him to do that. “But that will not do anything unless we treat it.”

“What can we do?” Caden asked desperately, gesturing towards himself and Zander.

“Neither of you will be doing anything,” Ryber cut in, her tone businesslike as she tried to guide Caden and Zander away. “You just narrowly escaped death and you’re probably wounded as well. Besides, having too many people around while we’re trying to help Lev will be unhelpful. Safi, if you could go with them back to the inn? Make sure they _stay_ there, and treat their injuries while you’re waiting.” She paused, and when she spoke again her voice was gentler. “I know you want to help her, but this is the way to do it right now.”

When she said it like that, they had no choice—besides, even Safi could admit that not everybody was required to help Lev immediately. Every part of her wanted to stay regardless, but she also doubted that anyone besides her could get the other two Hell-Bards to stay away.

At Safi’s hesitation, Arida gave her a bright smile that didn’t match her next words. “If you three don’t leave, I can make you.” The Wordwitch’s threat was well-meaning, and it was clear she only said it for Lev’s sake, but Safi still didn’t appreciate it. Wordlessly, she nodded towards the inn, and Caden and Zander actually followed. Probably because they didn’t want Arida to force them to do it.

As soon as they stepped into the inn, Safi embraced Zander tightly, already crying again. “You’re alive,” she repeated. “All of you. _How?_ What happened?” She gestured for Caden to sit down so she could take care of his broken wrist. It reminded her of after her fight with Admiral Kahina when he had been the one to treat her injuries. “Tell me everything.”

“We had the element of surprise,” Zander began. “Nobody expected us to be Hell-Bards since, logically speaking, it should be impossible for us to go against the emperor. It was enough to shock the others, and they decided that the emperor might want us alive.”

“If that’s the case, then why did they stab Lev?” Safi opened the bag of healing supplies and began looking through it.

Zander looked over her shoulder and found a roll of bandages, pulling it out for her. “They didn’t realize who we were until Lev got hurt. Then they recognized us both and decided they did not want us to be harmed, so that the emperor could decide what our fates would be.”

“That’s when they locked you in the cell?” Safi asked, picking up Caden’s hand as gently as she could and carefully examining his wrist. It would definitely have to be set—luckily, Mathew and Habim had taught her how to deal with almost any kind of injury. “Then how did _this_ happen?”

“I stayed behind, as you remember,” Caden explained, his face tight with pain. “I wasn’t there when the others recognized Lev and Zander, so when they came down and saw me, they immediately knew what I was doing. They weren’t looking to give me a mortal wound, so when I got knocked down, one of them tried to disarm me by hitting the sword out of my hand with the hilt of theirs. It was dark and I couldn’t see that it was what they were trying to do, so I tried to get out of the way, so….” He trailed off, but the point was clear. Moving to avoid a heavy object in the dark could not end well.

Safi nodded, then looked Caden directly in the eyes. “I’m going to set your wrist,” she told him as a warning. As was typical for him, he merely scoffed and gestured for her to just do it. His overconfidence didn’t stop him from crying out when she snapped the bone back into place, and his free hand was clenched into a white-knuckled fist. By the time she was finished wrapping bandages tightly around his wrist to immobilize it, Caden’s eyes were wide and he was gasping in pain.

She did as best as she could to fashion a sling out of cloth that she found in the healing kit, then looked over her handiwork before turning to Zander. “Are you hurt at all?” she asked.

“No,” he said, shaking his head.

Safi was glad, of course, that Zander was uninjured—but she longed for something to do, something to occupy her time with so she could be distracted from thoughts of what could be happening outside. Logically, she knew that Lev was in good hands. Aeduan apparently had an ability she hadn’t known about that could be put to good use in healing, and Iseult had always been the calm and composed one in the case of an injury. But still….

_We can’t lose her now. We can’t._

“If we go back out there,” Zander said, apparently reading her thoughts, “the Wordwitch wouldn’t _really_ force us to come back, would she?”

“She would,” Safi replied heavily. “Arida is friendly, and she’s proven that she’s on our side, but she would absolutely use her magic against us if we went against what they said before.” It then occurred to her that he had referred to her just using her witchery, instead of using her actual name. “And ‘the Wordwitch’ claims that you two know each other.”

Caden laughed humorlessly. “She must have embellished that story,” he explained, which didn’t surprise Safi, given that Arida was friends with Leopold fon Cartorra. “We only ever saw each other twice, and I never spoke to her, though that was because I was busy both times. I don’t know anything about her aside from what I’ve been told recently.”

Safi frowned. “You aren’t friends with her? But when…when we thought you three were dead…she fell apart. She was crying and she was barely talking—and you know she normally never stops.”

He shrugged. “As I remember, she _was_ friendly with Lev those two times. Maybe they were closer friends than I thought. Maybe she was just overreacting. I don’t know.”

“Overreacting?” she demanded, her previous confusion and worry overshadowed by a new, sharp anger. How could Caden willingly come so close to death, willingly let Safi and the others think he was dead, and now act so nonchalantly about it? “We thought you _died _down there! You all thought you were going to as well! Do you even care?”

“Of course I care,” Caden said defensively, “and I’m sorry you were worried, but we were saving your lives!”

_Worried?_ She had been far more than _worried_—she had thought Caden, Lev, and Zander were gone forever, and their actions had somehow been simultaneously noble and the most foolish thing Safi had ever witnessed. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she wasn’t sure if she was actually upset at Caden or if her emotions just needed some kind of release. She would have continued her tirade if not for Zander’s eyes suddenly widening as he focused on something behind her, at the door.

Safi turned around to see Aeduan in the doorway, still carrying Lev. In unison, Safi, Caden, and Zander pushed to their feet and surged forward, asking questions so quickly that Aeduan probably felt bombarded by them.

“Is she all right?”

“What can we do?”

“What did _you_ do?”

“She’ll live, won’t she?”

Lev picked up her head and they fell silent. Her eyes were still glazed over and her face was too pale, but even such a small movement was more than she had managed earlier. Safi hoped that was a good sign.

“How do you feel?” Caden asked her gently.

Lev blinked as she evidently tried to focus on him. She mumbled something about how Aeduan ought to put her down because she was perfectly capable of walking. Safi glanced from Caden to Zander, who gave her similar looks. While she _obviously_ wasn’t capable of walking after having been stabbed in the side, insisting otherwise was something so typical of Lev that it gave Safi an odd sense of relief. Their friend was still herself enough to be stubborn.

“She’ll recover,” Arida announced, stepping into sight. “But she’ll need time and rest.”

“Of course,” Safi said—then noted, with concern, that Aeduan was looking very unsteady on his feet. Apparently, his ability to stop the blood flow of a wound long enough for it to be treated had drained his energy.

Zander seemed to see this as well, because he came forward and carefully helped Aeduan transfer Lev into his own arms. The Bloodwitch leaned heavily against the wall for support as Zander motioned towards Arida. “If you have the keys to any of the rooms in this inn, I can bring her up so she can rest.”

“I do,” Arida confirmed with a nod. “I’ll come with you.”

They disappeared down the hallway while the others came in from outside. Iseult, rather predictably, immediately went to Aeduan and spoke to him in a hushed voice. Presumably asking if he was all right. After a quiet conversation that Safi couldn’t quite hear, her Threadsister apparently convinced Aeduan to sit down, which he did, half-falling into the chair.

“I do not trust that girl,” Vaness said abruptly, staring at the place Arida had occupied before she followed Zander. “We still know so little about her, and there is no reason at all why she would be helping us.”

Leopold set his jaw, looking genuinely upset. “I’ve vouched for her countless times, and she has already proven to be selfless. I’ve known her for years. She genuinely wants to help us.”

“You’ll forgive me if I’m not convinced by _your_ endorsement.”

“If you’re not convinced by me, then be convinced by her reaction when we thought the Hell-Bards were dead,” Leopold shot back. Safi was almost intimidated by him, even though his words weren’t directed towards her—it took a lot to anger the prince. “A reaction, I think, that you would have shared if you were ever comfortable expressing your emotions.”

Vaness’s eyes warned of violence in the prince’s near future, but Safi knew that he was right to an extent. Even if the empress didn’t want to admit it, she clearly cared about Caden, Lev, and Zander, and Safi had seen Vaness try to hide her feelings after they were presumed dead. She hadn’t done as good of a job as she seemed to think.

“Just stop, both of you,” Ryber ordered, then seemed to remember that she was speaking to two of the most politically powerful people on the continent. “Please,” she amended. “There isn’t any need to be antagonistic. There’s no harm in being cautious, but Arida _has_ helped us before and there’s no reason to believe she won’t continue to do it.”

“Ry is right,” Cam put in. “We gotta trust her.”

Vaness looked exceptionally displeased, but dropped the subject. For now.

Aeduan looked up, holding a handful of papers covered in writing. “The emperor gave these to me,” he began, “though I have not read them yet. He said they have to do with Dom fon Hasstrel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be from Vivia's POV.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the papers belonging to Eron fon Hasstrel are read, a shocking revelation is made. Meanwhile, simple words prove to have caused much more damage than they initially seemed to. The only thing to do now is to try to solve the new problems that have been made, but one person finds themselves suddenly and forcibly unable of doing so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that chapter summary cryptic enough? I didn't want to give anything away before you read it, but that's really vague omg. Also, sorry that this update took so long - things should go back to normal now!

Silence fell as everyone, presumably, tried to think of what the papers could contain. Vivia, personally, was convinced that it could be nothing good if they had been given to Aeduan by the man who imprisoned the writer of the documents.

“Should we go get Dom fon Hasstrel before we read them?”

“No,” Safi said slowly. Then she repeated herself. “No, don’t.” And that was the end of it. She didn’t explain further or give a reason for not wanting her uncle to see his own papers. It wasn’t clear to Vivia whether she wanted to give him time to rest or she didn’t trust him—she wouldn’t have been surprised by the latter, given Safi’s display earlier.

Aeduan unfolded the papers and his eyes scanned the page briefly before he handed it to Safi. “I can barely read Cartorran.”

Safi took them awkwardly, looking rather apprehensive of what they might say. Before she could begin reading them aloud, a strange feeling came over Vivia, leaving her uneasy and on edge. Something didn’t feel right—though she had no idea what it was.

“Does anyone else have…a strange feeling all of a sudden?” she asked tentatively, hoping she wasn’t crazy. “I think there’s something wrong.”

“I think so too,” Vaness agreed. “I cannot explain it, but I feel it as well.”

A quick glance around the room showed that, judging by the nods and muttered affirmations, Stix, Merik, Kullen, Aeduan, Safi, and Iseult agreed with her. Cam, Ryber, and Leopold looked confused and were blinking at the rest of them. “I don’t feel anything,” Leopold said.

“We are safe here, aren’t we?” Stix checked, her eyes wide and worried. “Nobody knows we’re here?”

“I’m positive that we are safe,” Leopold assured her, still looking perplexed by everyone else’s reactions. “If you like, later Arida and I can explain just how we know that no one could ever find us here, but we don’t have the time now. Besides, she’s busy and she knows more than I do about _that_ story. But in any case, I can’t sense whatever it is the rest of you can.”

Cam frowned. “Neither can I,” he admitted. “And I can usually tell when something’s wrong.”

“I don’t feel anything either,” Ryber murmured.

“Well, there is no one else around,” Aeduan announced. “I would be able to sense them if they were.”

Iseult still looked as worried as Vivia felt. “Yes, but you also exhausted your magic by saving Lev. We should still be on our guard.”

“All right,” Vivia muttered, but her mind wouldn’t be at peace. It wasn’t a physical sensation, rather an inexplicable feeling that something was very wrong. At least she knew that she wasn’t hallucinating, given how many other people felt it, but that didn’t make it any more reassuring.

Safi refocused on the papers in her hand, beginning to read aloud. “_I’m beginning to worry that the emperor knows of our communications. He is already suspicious of my involvement in Safiya’s disappearance, though he has yet to fully know my role in the matter. They all do, but for the sake of safety, we should keep our future correspondence brief._ Who is he sending these letters to? And why does he have these copies of his _own_ letters?”

“I don’t know,” Merik said. “It doesn’t make sense why he would keep them if he was so worried about the emperor finding out.”

“I’m not liking this at all. _If what you’ve told me is accurate, then we are well on our way to—_ and that’s it. He didn’t finish writing this letter.” Safi sounded both horrified and angry. “I—I’ve only read this one fragment of it and it’s so incriminating. Why in the world would my uncle keep this where the emperor could see it?”

Iseult shrugged. “Maybe…maybe Henrick arrived while he was writing it?”

“Beneath this is another, that someone else wrote. Does anyone recognize the handwriting?” She held out the paper and Vivia glanced at the page quickly before shaking her head. It was unfamiliar.

After a moment passed, Aeduan snatched the letter from Safi and looked at it more closely. He blinked once, then twice, and then he handed it back to Safi. “What does it say?” he demanded, his tone suddenly intense and eager for the information.

“Who wrote it?” she asked warily.

Aeduan swallowed. “My father.”

And then it was chaos. Everyone stood up except for Aeduan, who still seemingly expected Safi to immediately translate the contents of the letter. When he realized that she would not, in fact, do so at once after his shocking announcement, he too rose to his feet.

“Your uncle is writing to the Raider King?”

“How much does he know?”

“Does that mean that Mathew and Habim are—”

“What if he planned it all so that—”

“What if he’s going to—”

“Everyone, quiet!” Ryber exclaimed. “He could hear us,” she explained once the room had quieted down. “I don’t know if he’s awake or not, but I don’t want to risk anything.”

She made a good point, but as someone whose country was being directly attacked by the raiders, Vivia did not at all appreciate this new revelation. This man was working with the _Raider King of Arithuania_?And they had just _rescued_ him?

“Then we leave,” Vaness said in a more hushed voice. “We can go right now and leave the dom behind. Whatever the rest of the letters say, there is no way to explain why he would be secretly writing to the Raider King. The longer we stay, the bigger the risk is.”

“But Lev needs time to recover,” Safi replied, visibly trying to stay calm for the sake of what Ryber had said. “And if we go running off now, my uncle will suspect. But if we stay…I don’t even know. What do we do?”

Vivia wished she had a suggestion. She, too, was lost.

“First things first,” Leopold said. “Vivia and Stix—you were in the dungeons at the same time that Dom fon Hasstrel was. Not in the same cell, but close enough to overhear each other. Did either of you say something that he shouldn’t know?”

Vivia frantically tried to remember everything that had happened while they were locked up in the Pragan dungeons. And then, with a sinking feeling, a memory came back to her. Shaking and crying and breaking down because of the helplessness she felt when thinking about how unwanted she was back in Nubrevna. _Everywhere_, really. But in that moment, she hadn’t thought of who might be overhearing her.

_We’ll be trapped down here for a ransom that will never be paid, or a hostage exchange that will never be fulfilled. Even _if_ anyone in Nubrevna knew we were taken, which they don’t, my father—_ _My father wouldn’t want me back._

Vivia had been so stupid to not think about who might be listening before loudly talking about how worthless she was. If Dom fon Hasstrel had heard her say that her father didn’t want her back, he might be able to piece the rest of the matter together and find out that her crown had been reclaimed. For all that Nubrevna was facing right now, most people still didn’t know that, even within the country itself. But if the dom had connections to the Raider King of Arithuania? If the leader of the raiders were to find out that Vivia had no political power anymore and that the country was instead ruled by someone like Serafin Nihar?

“Did you say something?” Leopold repeated.

She exhaled shakily. “I said that my father wouldn’t want me back. That he wouldn’t care if I was taken hostage by another country. If Dom fon Hasstrel was listening, then it wouldn’t be hard to guess what happened.”

“In other words,” Vaness said, “it will not be long before the political state of your country becomes common knowledge.”

“That—that’s right.”

And what if it did become common knowledge? What then? Would Cartorra and Dalmotti see Nubrevna as nothing more than a weakened nation who was tearing itself apart from within, a perfect target for an attack? Would Marstok see it that way, too, after the assassination attempt on Vaness? Would Vivia be seen as the one who brought Nubrevna to destruction while Serafin was seen as the one who tried to save it?

Horrified, Vivia tried to reason with herself. There was no way she could have known that Dom fon Hasstrel was working with the Raider King, no way at all. But that did nothing to ease the guilt weighing over her already tense mind. What would happen because of the things she had said?

“It’s not your fault,” Stix whispered, looking Vivia in the eyes. “Don’t blame yourself for this.”

“I’m not blaming myself,” she lied. She tried to refocus on the conversation but couldn’t. The High Council might be filled with mindless idiots who couldn’t think for themselves, but most Nubrevnans were good people. How many of them had she inadvertently killed? “I-I think I’m going to go outside. To take a walk. I’ll be back.”

Stix reached out to stop her from leaving. “Wait. I mean it—there’s nothing you could have done. Besides, maybe it won’t be as bad as it seems. Maybe—”

“I just need some fresh air,” Vivia protested, her voice sounding dull even to her own ears. “Please. I’ll just be a minute.”

Her friend still looked worried, but let her go, for which Vivia was grateful. She needed a moment to herself to process this, and breathing in the cold air of the Orhin Mountains would help ground her.

Would there be a day when she could finally escape the mistakes she’d made? When she would be able to help Nubrevna the way she had always wanted to without inadvertently ruining it or making the world think she was a monster? She was supposed to be strong, but Vivia had never felt less like a queen and more like a little fox in need of comfort that she wouldn’t get.

_You’re perfect as you are, and so many other people have failed to see it that you believe them instead of the truth. What you have inside you is strength, never darkness. _Stix’s words replayed in her mind, so kind and gentle that she almost believed it, but a perfect person could never be so thoughtless as to forget who could be hearing the things they said. By the gods, even a _decent_ person could never do that. Some days it felt like she would continue to do a hundred things wrong until the world fell apart at her hands.

Every step Vivia took felt _wrong_ somehow, like that strange feeling she’d had back inside, but she blamed it on the sudden revelation. Her fingers curled into fists as she left the range of sight from the inn where everyone else was waiting. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t see them now, she told herself. She would be back in a minute or so. She had promised.

_I’m so broken_, she had said to Stix in the dungeons—but now, alone and shivering in the middle of northern Cartorra, she realized how broken all of them were. From almost dying to betrayals to actual death, their lives had been ripped apart just as much as hers. It was Safi’s uncle who they had gone to such labor to rescue from Henrick, and he was the one who was apparently working with the Raider King. Vivia wouldn’t be surprised if the Truthwitch, too, was feeling this way right now.

But who was the one who had walked away instead of facing the situation? It hadn’t been Safi.

Every word that Vivia had said to Stix in the dungeons was true—her father didn’t want her back and no one back home would care at all if she disappeared forever. But that was why she had to go back and keep fighting, why she had to find some way to carry on through the mistakes and the pain. _Because the only people who care are the ones I just left behind._

Vaness was right in that they would have to act quickly, now that they knew Dom fon Hasstrel was not what he seemed. She might have accidentally made this situation ten times worse for everyone involved, but Vivia would be in her grave before she ever abandoned Nubrevna.

She spun around with an apology already forming on her lips, ready to utter once she went back and saw the others waiting for her return. She had only made it three steps in the direction of the inn before someone’s hand closed around her wrist and pulled her off the path.

Reacting instinctively, she wrenched out of their grip and reached for a knife, a dagger, _anything_. But she didn’t have any weapons on her after having been a prisoner of Henrick.

So Vivia looked up instead and met the eyes of the person who had grabbed her. They were tall, but she couldn’t make out their facial features because of their hooded cloak. Before she could get a better look at them or, like any logical person, run, the cloaked figure pushed her against a tree and drew something from the folds of their cloak. The sharp blade shone in the sunlight, and then she couldn’t see the dagger at all, because she could _feel_ it. Cold against her throat, pressing just hard enough that she couldn’t move her head.

Looking back on it, the entire sequence of events had taken only a few moments, but it felt like slow motion. It felt as though she was aware of everything around her but incapable of doing the one thing that could prevent this, now.

“I didn’t think I would find the Nubrevnan princess here.” His voice was a low whisper that sent shivers down her spine. “All by herself in enemy territory. So far away from home.”

Vivia frantically tried to think of what she could do. Her hands were free, but he could easily kill her before she could try to disarm him. So she tried to reach for her magic, for anything that could help her get away, but there was nothing. The water that normally beckoned to her and was hers to command was out of reach.

“Don’t worry,” he said, which in no way made her worry less. “I’m not going to kill you yet. I have my orders.”

“Who?” Vivia managed.

He tilted her chin up with the dagger. “Who am I? Or who gave me the orders?” There was a long pause. “All in due time, Vivia Nihar.”

His free hand was cold as he pinned her wrists above her head. Though she hated not being able to fight back, she let him do it, knowing that a single movement of his hand could end her life. And she couldn’t die, not here. Not now, after everything that had gone wrong and with everything she still needed to fix.

“Tell me the truth,” he demanded. “What are you doing here, all alone?”

Vivia might be in the forest by herself, but she was far from alone. The others weren’t too far away from her—though they _were_ too far to know what could be happening—and the village wasn’t exactly hidden. It might be abandoned, and even she still didn’t know why, but it couldn’t be hard for this man to guess that she had been traveling with people who were in the village.

“There is nothing around here except for mountains and forests,” he hissed. “As far as the eye can see. So why is the Nubrevnan princess here by herself?”

Nothing but mountains and forests? As far as the eye could see? If there wasn’t a knife pressed to her throat, Vivia might have been tempted to ask if he was blind. Then again, if (for whatever reason) the man could not see the village, there was no way she could risk telling him it was there. Not while her friends were still there, and couldn’t leave.

“That’s none of your concern,” she breathed, panic welling up in her throat. The feeling of having her hands restrained made her feel helpless—and she was. He had said that he wasn’t going to kill her _yet_, but she still had no idea who he was or why he was here.

“It might not be my concern, but it is someone’s.” He leaned closer, but with the hood covering his face, she still couldn’t see who it was. She would not be likely to recognize him—his voice was unfamiliar. “I’m under orders to bring you back unharmed, but I can forget about that part if you’re uncooperative.”

Vivia fought to remain calm. “I’d like to see you try. I’m a powerful Tidewitch who could kill you in a heartbeat.”

He laughed, a low, sinister sound. “With a knife to your throat? You haven’t killed me yet, and we both know you can’t.” In the vain hopes of proving him wrong, she tried again to access her magic, but couldn’t grasp it. Ordinarily she would assume it was because there was no liquid water in the area, but even that felt different than this. Normally she could still feel her witchery even if it wasn’t immediately usable.

_How am I going to get out of this? What am I going to do? _Her thoughts were wild, uncontrolled, jumping from one scenario to another in her anxiety. She had no idea what this man wanted from her, and apparently he worked for someone who had ordered her kidnapping. What would they do when they found out that she was politically useless? She found it difficult to believe they would just let her go.

She remembered her mother’s advice. _The little fox must become a bear. _It had always been useful for High Council meetings, and now it was more important than ever for her to stay strong. But foxes could be strong too, not just bears, and sometimes it took more than mere strength to save oneself. A little fox could be clever, clever enough to escape the grasp of someone who tried to imprison it.

He twisted his grip on Vivia’s wrists so she was facing the tree instead, briefly moving the knife away from her throat—presumably to bind her hands. As soon as she no longer felt the pressure of the dagger by her neck, she dove to the side, hurriedly putting together a desperate plan. She’d never been the best at fighting with weapons, because her first choice was always her magic, but after years of training she was more than passable. If she could get the dagger….

Before she could try to take the blade or run away—preferably the former, so as to not lead him back to the others—the man swept her legs out from underneath her and she fell hard to the icy ground. Still dazed by the impact, she could do nothing to stop him from tying her wrists together with thick, unbreakable rope.

Once he had pulled her to her feet, he returned the knife to her throat, but this time it was there with lighter pressure. A warning was all he needed now. A warning of what would happen if she tried to run.

If she screamed or called out for help, the odds were low that anyone would hear. And if they did come to investigate, she didn’t want them to be captured by any of the man’s friends who might be waiting. No, she would have to get out of this herself somehow. A fox she would have to be, if that was what it took to get away.

But whether she was a fox or a bear or nothing at all, that didn’t stop the sickening realization that came upon her as she stumbled on with her kidnapper by her side. _Stix and the others have no idea what happened. He could kill me right now and they would never know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh sorry for the cliffhanger XD


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Understandable confusion and panic erupts as the question is raised as to what to do about the new revelations involving Eron fon Hasstrel. Meanwhile, Stix searches for the missing Vivia and realizes what has happened to the Nubrevnan princess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has both Safi's and Stix's perspectives. I'm not sure why, but I'm finding Stix's POV to be the most challenging to write - maybe because there isn't a lot of hers yet in the actual series, so I have less to go by. Anyway, hope you like the chapter!

Safi was aware of movement and voices around her, and she could make out some of them—Leopold trying to rationalize with everyone, Vivia remembering what she had said in the dungeons and leaving the building to go calm down. But she felt strangely detached from it all, even though she knew that this was the worst possible time to not be paying attention. Her mind kept replaying Aeduan’s words from when he looked at the letter.

_Who wrote it?_

_My father._

How many times was Safi going to go through this with her uncle? How many times would she still think he could change?

“Saf,” Iseult said gently. “We’ll get through this.”

“Of course we’ll get through this,” Safi replied heatedly. She wasn’t upset at Iseult, but at her uncle for what he had done and at herself for continuing to make the same mistakes. “But how much have we already gotten through because of this that we didn’t have to? The whole reason why we made that reckless plan that landed Vivia and Stix in the dungeons was that we wanted to free my uncle before his execution. The same reckless plan that nearly got Caden, Lev, and Zander killed!”

Ryber made a shushing noise to quiet her down. “As I said, we don’t want him overhearing us.”

“We could’ve had another person on our side to help us right now!” Safi whispered angrily. “Instead we’ve got one of our friends recovering from an almost fatal injury upstairs because she risked her life to save ours. To save _his_!”

“There’s no way you could have known, Safiya,” Leopold reminded her. “You did the right thing, trying to help him.”

She knew that he and Iseult were right, but that didn’t make it any easier. It _should_ be easy. It _should_ be easy for her to accept the fact that Uncle Eron was actively working with one of their greatest enemies, and it should make sense that the irresponsible dom from her childhood wouldn’t help them. She had spent almost her whole life complaining of how useless he was, up until the point that she thought he might die, when she realized that she didn’t know what she would do if he didn’t survive.

And what about now? Would she fall back into the same pattern as she always had before? When Safi was young, she had asked Habim often why her uncle was never the one taking care of her, and she resented Uncle Eron for his neglect—until he arrived for one of her lessons and she eagerly recited what she had learned in the hopes of making him proud. As she got older, she became more open about her feelings and she could often be heard criticizing her uncle for the way he acted—until another domna or dom said the same thing and Safi leapt to her uncle’s defense. When he helped her escape the betrothal to Henrick, he had struck a wildly unfair bargain with Nubrevna that she had thought was inexcusable—until she received the news that he had been captured for treason and was about to be hanged.

How many times would Safi continue to find ways to forgive the things her uncle had done to her and the people she cared about? How many more unforgivable things would he do before she finally learned from her mistakes?

“Vaness had the right idea,” she announced abruptly. “We have to leave as soon as possible. We don’t know what he’s going to do the longer we stay, and we can just as easily do our planning from afar.”

“But you said it yourself, we can’t go yet,” Leopold countered. “Lev only barely survived, and if we don’t give her time to rest and recover, she still might die.”

Stix also looked extremely worried, though not for the same reason. “Why hasn’t Vivia come back yet?” she asked anxiously. “She said she would only be gone for a minute, but it must have been at least five.”

“She looked really shaken up,” Ryber said. “But I’m sure she’ll be back soon.”

Stix didn’t look reassured. “What if she gets lost, though? What if she can’t find her way back to us? I could tell she was blaming herself for Dom fon Hasstrel finding out about what happened—she shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Ryber nodded slowly. “You’re right. Someone should go check on her.”

Before anyone else could even offer, Stix rose to her feet and left without another word. Safi couldn’t say she was surprised. The two of them seemed to be very close to one another, maybe closer than they would even admit to themselves.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” Leopold said finally, with the tone of someone who was willing to come up with more plans but was simultaneously tired of having to come up with plans. “I’ll go up to talk to the dom and subtly get as much information as possible—if he doesn’t want to seem suspicious, he’ll answer my questions. Depending on what I learn, we might be able to decide where to go from here.”

“All right,” Safi muttered reluctantly. She didn’t like the idea, but she also did not know what other option they had. Besides, Leopold was right in saying that Uncle Eron would have to answer his questions; otherwise, he would give himself away. “Be safe, won’t you? I’ll go check on Lev and tell the others about what’s happened.”

For everyone’s sake and her own, she tried to sound calm, but she could hear her own voice shake a little. Again, she wondered why it wasn’t as easy as it should be for her to move on, but some part of her couldn’t let go of the hope that her uncle did care. That this was all an elaborate misunderstanding and that he would really be on their side.

It was unrealistic and what was more, it was foolish. But it was what Safi always seemed to do when he was involved.

When she knocked on the door, Zander immediately opened it and gestured for her to come inside. Lev was sitting up, and though her face was still a little too pale, her eyes seemed to be brighter and more lucid than before. She was seemingly in the middle of a conversation with Caden, who sat at her bedside, but she stopped as soon as Safi arrived. At the sound of the opening door, she turned to face Safi, wincing and holding her side at the sudden movement.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice weaker than normal but with much more vehemence than before. “We could hear raised voices downstairs.”

“There’s…there’s been a development,” Safi began, not quite sure how to phrase it. “I’ll tell you about it in a moment, but first—are you all right? How are you feeling?”

Lev rolled her eyes as though she was tired of people asking so many questions. “I’m fine. You all worry too much.”

“Aeduan said that if he hadn’t pushed his Bloodwitchery to the limit in order to stop you from bleeding out, you would be dead for certain,” Caden said. “I think we’re allowed to be worried.”

“I wanted to thank you,” Safi told Lev, “for saving our lives back there. And to say that I will personally kill you if you ever do something that reckless again. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that the whole thing was your idea.”

Lev raised an eyebrow. “It worked, though, didn’t it?”

Before she could even try to answer that question, Caden cut in. “So what is going on down there?” he asked. “I heard something about your uncle, but that was all I could make out.”

“He’s….” Safi trailed off, yet again wondering how to word it, and then deciding it would be the least painful if she just said it. “He’s working with the Raider King of Arithuania. Aeduan found letters that he and the Raider King had written back and forth to each other, and—”

“Are you all right?” Caden asked her immediately, reaching out to touch her arm comfortingly. His fingers brushed the scar on her wrist from her fight with Admiral Kahina, which brought back a clash of memories that only added to her confusion. “I know you never liked him, but…I seem to recall a conversation where you said you were sure he loves you.”

She had said that to Caden, back when they were at his Dom fon Grieg’s estate and she began to realize what the dom’s relationship was like with his son. And she had meant every word of it, which was what made this so hard. “I’m fine,” she lied, glad that no one else in the room was a Truthwitch.

But, apparently, they didn’t have to be. “If you didn’t believe me when I said I was fine, don’t expect me to when you say it,” Lev said. Her words weren’t especially sympathetic, but her eyes were.

“Maybe the letters were misleading,” Zander suggested hopefully. “Or they were written by someone else. Maybe they were fake and Emperor Henrick used them so he could have a reason to arrest Dom fon Hasstrel.”

Safi wished she could believe that, but she knew that Henrick would never go to that much effort to arrest someone for treason. If he wanted them locked up, he could simply have them locked up with his authority and no evidence at all. “No, they’re genuine,” she said heavily. “And it’s possible that my uncle knows that Vivia’s throne was reclaimed, because he might have overheard her talking about it in the dungeons. She got overwhelmed and left to get some fresh air, but she hasn’t come back yet, and—and none of us have any idea what to do. We can’t leave, but we’re at risk if we stay.”

“Of course we can leave,” Lev insisted, then sighed when Caden gave her a disapproving look. “Fine. We can’t leave right now, but—”

“I still don’t believe that Dom fon Hasstrel is working with the Raider King,” Zander interrupted. “It’s not the kind of thing he would do, especially given how he was trying to stop the betrothal. I think we should wait and try to find out more before we jump to conclusions.”

“It’s _exactly_ the kind of thing he would do,” Safi burst out, her volume rising in spite of herself. “It’s _exactly_ the kind of thing he would do and then hide from me and everyone else who knew him. It’s the kind of thing that would be another betrayal, another reason for me to learn that we absolutely cannot trust him, and another way for him to get me to trust him again. I’ve gone through this time and time again, and each time it keeps getting worse. If we leave as soon as possible and never go to him for help again, we’ll be so much better off. I should’ve stopped expecting him to change when I was a child, when he kept making me fall for the same lies dozens of times—and here we are, just waiting for it to happen again. We can’t—”

She was distracted by the door opening again, and she looked up to see Leopold and Arida standing in the doorway. “What is it?” she asked warily. The look on Arida’s face didn’t make it seem like there was any good news.

Leopold tried for a charming smile, but it faltered, and she didn’t even need her Truthwitchery to tell it was fake. “Safiya, your uncle…he isn’t here.”

Stix was getting more worried by the minute as she tried to figure out where Vivia might have gone. She knew her friend had been upset, and rightfully so, but there was no reason for her to blame herself for what happened. She couldn’t possibly have predicted that Dom fon Hasstrel would hear what she said or use it against Nubrevna—not to mention that Vivia had far too much to deal with already and didn’t need guilt that did not belong to her.

Beyond the emotional state she might be in, Vivia was not Cartorran, and there was every reason to believe that she could easily get lost in the Orhin Mountains. If what the others had said was any indication, even Safi and Caden got lost in the Orhins sometimes, and they had grown up here. What with the unpredictable weather and rough terrain, forgetting one’s way back could be far worse than a minor inconvenience.

Finally, Stix realized that she might be able to determine where Vivia had gone if she looked for footprints in the snow. The idea seemed obvious once she thought of it, but she blamed her delayed realization on the anxiety pulsing through her veins. Not to mention the fact that Stix was also not Cartorran, and it was much too warm where she came for her first thought to be of the snow.

Now that she was looking, she saw a set of footprints leading away from the small, abandoned village and towards the woods. _Oh, please don’t be too far away. Who knows if there are patrols in the woods?_ Taking a deep breath to stay calm, she kept going until she had entered the cover of the trees.

It was as if Stix’s senses were heightened now that she was in the woods, and she kept thinking that she saw something moving ahead of her. When she tried to look more closely, though, she saw nothing. It was either a trick of the light or her poor vision deceiving her.

She kept following Vivia’s footprints, growing more dismayed with each step she took as she realized just how far away from the inn she had gone. But her real shock came when she noticed another set of footprints that entered from off the path and began to go in the same direction as the first set. Her heart was racing—who was it? A soldier? _Oh, Noden, I knew I shouldn’t have let her go._

After a minute or so of her worry continuing to escalate, she saw the first set of footprints stop, smudged as though Vivia had turned around to go back the way she had come. Stix knew, logically, that she could have heard the person behind her and turned to see what was wrong, but she selfishly liked to believe that Vivia had realized how worried Stix must have been and wanted to come back of her own accord.

But, of course, she hadn’t come back. Stix was panicking at this point, wondering what could have happened to Vivia and who this other person might be. Frantically, she scanned the area around her for any hint, any bit of evidence that could suggest where her friend had gone. She finally spotted a tree to the side of her that was surrounded by low bushes. Though nothing appeared to be disturbed, she could see two sets of footprints on the other side of the bushes. One of them was irregular, as though the person walking had stumbled frequently.

Stix immediately continued on in that direction, but saw something in the snow in front of the tree before she could get much further. No, not something—more like the place where something had been. An indentation of something that had been dropped into the snow. A knife.

Vivia hadn’t had a knife when she left the inn.

She dropped to the ground, desperately searching for the actual knife even if she knew she probably wouldn’t find it. It would be some kind of indication of what had happened to Vivia, _something_ more than the _nothing_ she had right now.

Tears stung at the backs of her eyes, but she blinked repeatedly to clear her vision. There was no way she could hope to find Vivia if she was crying.

“What are you doing?” a voice behind her asked, and she had a moment of panic before she realized it was Iseult. Aeduan stood beside her, and Stix assumed that they had both come to see where Stix had gone. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” Stix admitted, her voice trembling. “I was following her footprints and someone else arrived, over there”—she gestured to the place where Vivia and the other person had crossed paths— “and I don’t know what happened. I can tell that someone dropped something, a knife or a dagger, but I can’t find the actual weapon. Or Vivia.”

Iseult knelt beside her, quiet and calm in comparison to her urgency. “We’ll find her,” she murmured. “Was there only one person?”

“As far as I’m aware,” she said. “Aeduan?”

Aeduan nodded once, but slowly, like the gesture pained him. “The princess went that way,” he replied, pointing in the direction that the footprints continued. “I do not know how far away she is, though. As for the person who took her….”

Iseult met his gaze, seeming to communicate a great deal through a single look. While Stix was somewhat in awe of her ability to convey exactly what she meant to ask without uttering a word, it wasn’t useful to an onlooker who saw the situation as rather urgent.

“I doubt you know him, but he works for my father,” Aeduan explained to Stix. “So I assume that she has been kidnapped at his orders.”

_Vivia. Kidnapped. The Raider King._ “Wh-why?” she managed. “What does the Raider King think will happen? Vivia’s father wouldn’t pay a ransom or negotiate terms with him if he has her….” A horrible thought occurred to her. “But the king doesn’t know that. He hasn’t heard about what happened yet, has he? What will he do to Vivia when he finds out she doesn’t have any power in Nubrevna?” She couldn’t bring herself to ask the final question, but it hung heavy in the air.

Aeduan was apparently deep in thought, his eyes glowing red. “What confuses me is that I did not sense anyone else in the area until now.”

“Your magic was severely depleted,” Iseult reminded him. “It makes sense that it would be harder for you to sense blood-scents.”

“Did you hear me?” Stix demanded, her voice rising. She was fully aware of the fact that she sounded hysterical, but she couldn’t calm down. “When your father finds out that Vivia’s throne has been reclaimed, he won’t have any use for her anymore. He’ll kill her! We have to do something!”

Aeduan was quiet for another moment, and then he finally spoke. “He would not kill her, at least not yet. From what I know of my father, he would not have ordered her to be kidnapped for her political power. He wants her for something else.”

“Then what does he want her for?” It was infuriating to listen to him be so indirect when Vivia’s life was in danger. “And who is the person who physically kidnapped her? I saw the look you gave each other—should we be worried about who they are?”

It was Iseult who answered, and Stix expected a reassuring “no” from the normally calm Weaverwitch. Instead Iseult was visibly agitated, and she stammered a little before getting the words out. “H-he—well—his name is Corlant det Midenzi, and we absolutely need to be worried about that.”

Stix thought she recognized the name from when Iseult had been relaying her story in the cave, but she didn’t have the time to make any real connections. “Then it’s even more important. I have to go rescue her, _now_.”

“Someone has to, yes,” Aeduan agreed. “But you cannot be the one to do it. That’s what my father wants.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's been reading this fic - I'm so glad to hear people are enjoying it 🙂 The next chapter should be up fairly soon!


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vivia learns the reason why she has been kidnapped, which may prove to be even worse than she had feared. Meanwhile, the recent revelations regarding Eron fon Hasstrel have caused confusion and panic within the others, not eased by the Nubrevnan princess who hasn't yet returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has perspectives from Vivia and Merik - hope you like it!

Vivia wasn’t sure how long it had been since she left the others at the inn, but it had been long enough for it to start snowing again. First small flakes that drifted lazily down from the white sky, then steadier snow mingled with ice, and then fierce wind that stung her face with its intensity. The storm made it difficult to see more than a few paces ahead—she would have seized the opportunity to make a run for it, but her hands were still bound and the man had a tight grip on her right arm. Not to mention the dagger he still held in his free hand.

He showed no signs of stopping to find shelter, and she would rather die than suggest it herself, but he had to notice the way she was shivering uncontrollably. The weather in the Orhin Mountains was bad enough when there wasn’t a blizzard, especially to someone used to a warmer environment, but with this snow and this wind it was nothing short of frigid.

_What must Stix think? Does she assume I’ve been kidnapped, or does she think I ran away?_

She knew she had to stop those kinds of thoughts if she wanted to get away, but it was impossible. Her mind kept spinning with possible outcomes, all of them ending with her dead and abandoning her country. He must have captured her to use as a hostage for her father’s goodwill, but when he found out that Serafin wouldn’t want her back, she would be of no use to him. No use at all.

Finally, she couldn’t take the silence any longer, leaving her alone with the voices in her head. “Who are you?” she tried to ask, but she could barely hear herself over the wind. Trying again louder, she shouted, “Who are you?”

Her captor didn’t spare her a glance, nor did he slow his pace. “You don’t strike me as the sort to enjoy small talk,” he mused, only just loud enough to be heard. “So I’ll assume that you’re looking to gather information about me.”

Vivia didn’t bother trying to deny it. She was preoccupied by the fact that she could no longer feel her fingers, curling her hands into fists in a vain attempt to warm them.

“But no matter, Vivia Nihar,” he continued. “I’ll indulge your question. My name is Corlant—_Priest_ Corlant, though I doubt you care.”

Oh, Noden save her, the man was a Purist. At least, that was what she assumed—Purists were the only kind of priest that Vivia believed would kidnap someone in good conscience. She immediately thought of Serrit Linday and the way he had been colluding with the Purist compounds, but no. That was impossible. Then again, why else would this man target her?

Still, it would be difficult to think of a person she would less like to be imprisoned by than a priest who believed all magic was a sin. As a Tidewitch, it wouldn’t take much for him to change his mind about bringing her back unharmed.

Then again, she wouldn’t be unharmed if they stayed out in this cold for much longer. Even Corlant, who was wearing a thick brown cloak—which, now that she thought about it, she should have recognized as belonging to a Purist—was beginning to shiver, and she had no such luxury. Her throat burned with every icy inhale.

“No response, princess?” Corlant asked, and though she couldn’t see his face, she could hear his smile. “You know, you never answered me earlier about what you were doing here. Soon enough we’ll know everything.”

Vivia wasn’t sure exactly what he meant by that thinly-veiled threat, but it certainly didn’t do anything to ease her mind. If staying silent meant that he wouldn’t find out where the others were, though, there was no other option.

She kept reminding herself to stay calm, to stay strong, but her mind betrayed her by remembering the chilling words he had spoken earlier: _All by herself in enemy territory. So far away from home._ It wouldn’t have resonated with her so much if it hadn’t been so true, so true that she couldn’t help but be frightened by it. The familiarity of Lovats felt almost impossibly far away now, but somehow the inn where everyone else was waiting seemed even farther.

Making an effort to observe as much as she could, she tried to pay attention to Corlant. He walked with confidence that bordered on arrogance, and he had no Witchmark that she could see. Still, that didn’t mean he had no abilities—she doubted he would have attempted to kidnap a princess with nothing but a small dagger.

Though, Vivia thought bitterly, that was all it had taken.

His grip on her arm was starting to loosen, though she didn’t know if it was intentional or not. Either way, she could use that somehow. The hardest part would be trying to get away before he could kill her with the knife he still held.

Before she could come up with a more specific plan, she stumbled over the uneven ground and, with her wrists bound together, couldn’t catch herself. Corlant was yanked forward by her momentum and, cursing, let go of her arm so she fell hard to the frozen earth. Her numb hands were shaking as she tried to stand. By Noden, it was never this cold in Nubrevna.

Corlant sighed loudly and grabbed her hands, pulling her to her feet. The world briefly seemed to spin around her as the white landscape overwhelmed her vision. When she could see clearly again, he was looking directly into her eyes as though trying to see into her mind.

“If this is some kind of ploy,” he warned, “it won’t work. The Raider King isn’t stupid, and neither am I.”

“Th-the Raider King?” Vivia stammered. “What…what does the Raider King want with me?”

Corlant laughed harshly. “Oh, he doesn’t want_ you_, Vivia Nihar. But there is someone close to you that he wants very much.”

Vivia almost stopped breathing. _Please don’t say it. Please say anything but that._

“I see you understand,” he said, almost gleefully. “Captain Sotar is like me—did you know that? No? Well, I think you’ll find that the Raider King has many uses for people like her.”

She wanted to lash out, to yell that Stix would never be _anything_ like this man no matter what he meant by saying it—but instead she stood motionless, incapable of forming words, staring at Corlant in utter shock.

Stix. _Stix. _This was all a plot to get Stix. Using Vivia as a hostage.

What she couldn’t understand, though, was _why_ the Raider King would want Stix. All things considered, she had even less political power than Vivia did, which (at this point) was almost none. The only thing she could think of was that Stix was a powerful Waterwitch, but that didn’t seem to be worthy of all this—especially with Corlant’s odd comment about her being just like him.

But in the end, Vivia knew that it didn’t matter why the Raider King of Arithuania wanted to have Stix as his prisoner. All that mattered was that it didn’t happen.

She knew Corlant was probably waiting for her to say something, but even if she could, she would have no idea what to say. She would never be able to forgive herself if it was her fault that Stix got taken.

_Please don’t come for me. Whatever you do, please don’t come for me._

“I find it hard to believe that a princess like you would travel the mountains alone,” Corlant considered aloud. “A truly loyal captain would come with you, so this might be easier than expected. Where is Stacia Sotar?”

Her eyes stung from the wind and suppressed tears. “I d-d-don’t know.”

“Don’t lie, princess,” he warned in a chilling whisper. “I’m a Cursewitch, and if I wanted to, I could make you never use magic again.” Cursewitch? Such a thing was real? Vivia wondered if that was the root of the strange feeling of wrongness she’d had earlier. “And if I wanted to, I could do worse,” he added, fingering the dagger in a not-so-subtle hint. “Now, _where is the captain?_"

Telling the truth was out of the question. “I-I swear I don’t know.”

“Oh, but I think you do.” Corlant raised the dagger to her throat again, his eyes glowing with malice. “Does her life mean more to you than yours?”

_Yes._ But she couldn’t say that. Instead she stayed silent and didn’t break eye contact with him—she knew that no matter what he did to her, he didn’t want her dead, at least not yet.

“What if I told you this knife is cursed?” he asked, slowly lowering his hand until the blade was pressed against her side instead. Given the angle at which he was holding the dagger, a wound there probably wouldn’t be fatal. “It would take nothing at all for me to slowly drain away your Tidewitchery until no shreds of it remained. Unless, of course, you tell me where Stacia Sotar is.”

This time, when Vivia looked into his eyes, she could tell that he wouldn’t hesitate. She saw in his face that this man would have no qualms about taking away her witchery or even seriously injuring her. So she would have to try a different approach.

“N-not here,” she managed, her breaths coming in shuddering gasps—whether from the bitter cold or the fear or both, she had no idea. “She went m-missing,” she stuttered, mingling some truth within the lies. “I was trying…trying to find her. A vizer helped me.” She immediately wanted to curse herself for saying that—it wouldn’t be hard for Corlant to guess which vizer. So she quickly added, “Qu-Quintay. He betrayed me. Led me to a doorway and s-said it would take me to her.” She gestured to the mountains around them. “He l-lied. I’m here and I r-_really_ don’t know where she is.”

Corlant was silent for a long moment, as though weighing over her words. “For your sake,” he said finally, “and for Captain Sotar’s, you would do well to tell the truth. Remember that, princess.” He moved the dagger away from her side and spun her around, roughly shoving her forward.

Vivia wished for so many things in that moment—that she was a full Waterwitch instead of just a Tidewitch so she could control the snow and ice all around them. That she was a better ruler, better fighter, better person so she could somehow manage to get away. That Corlant wasn’t so horrifyingly right about how far away she was from home.

But most of all, she wished for the things that she never thought she would want, that hurt to even wish for—that Stix would never find out what happened to her and that if she did, she wouldn’t be able to find Vivia to give herself up.

_Just please don’t come for me._

It was almost impossible to believe how much had gone wrong in such a small amount of time. One moment, everyone was jubilant over the Hell-Bards returning—the next, it had been revealed that Eron fon Hasstrel was working with the Raider King and had somehow disappeared, and Vivia still hadn’t come back. Merik was beginning to be seriously concerned. It had already been long enough for not just Stix but also Iseult and Aeduan to go out looking for her.

“I still don’t understand why she would just leave,” Merik said. “I know she’s going to come back, but she seemed to react strangely. Of course what the dom overheard isn’t _ideal_, but we can work around it. She must know it’s not her fault.”

“I agree with you, but I wouldn’t count on her knowing that,” Ryber replied quietly.

He frowned. “What do you mean? Granted, we weren’t close growing up, but she always seemed to be very confident.”

“You don’t have to be confident in order to seem like it,” she said with a sigh.

Merik supposed that was true, but he also would have thought that Vivia would have returned by now—or, at the very least, that Stix, Iseult, and Aeduan would have found her and convinced her to come back. Finally, when it began to snow outside, Merik rose to his feet, muttering to Ryber that he was going to see what was going on. She nodded and gestured for him to go, then turned to Leopold, who had been trying to get her attention.

He had only been walking for a few minutes when he found the three people who had followed his sister in the woods, but not Vivia herself. Stix was kneeling on the ground in spite of the snow that was picking up in intensity, and Iseult was beside her speaking in a calm, steady tone. Aeduan stood off to the side, looking oddly shaken for the normally stoic Bloodwitch.

“What’s going on?” Merik asked. “Where is she?”

“She was kidnapped,” Aeduan told him. “By a Cursewitch working for my father.” He crouched down beside the other two. “Iseult. Captain. We have to go back to the others. We cannot stay out here.”

Stix rose to her feet, but showed no signs of going back to the inn. “But we have to go find Vivia! If Corlant is half as bad as you say he is, she has to get away from him right now—and what about once he takes her to the Raider King? What then?”

“He will not hurt her,” Aeduan said with a surprising amount of confidence. “At least not seriously or permanently.”

“How could you know that?” Stix demanded, her eyes gleaming with anger and tears. “She can’t be used as a hostage for her father to do anything, and you know it!”

Aeduan shook his head. “That is not what he wants. He didn’t have her kidnapped so her father would do what he asked—he wants you.”

“What are you _talking_ about? Why would he want _me_? And if he did, why would he take Vivia?”

“Because you are a Paladin,” Aeduan explained.

“And because you’re close to her,” Iseult added. “He wants you to trade yourself for her.”

Merik was having a hard time processing the sudden turn of events. His sister had been kidnapped by a Cursewitch who worked for the Raider King? He found it difficult to believe that Vivia would let anyone capture her easily, although he supposed that a Cursewitch would be able to easily force her. And now it turned out that she had been kidnapped not for her own political power, but for Stix’s abilities?

It was beginning to snow harder, and the wind was intensifying. Still he stayed frozen in place, oddly motionless in comparison to the way he normally became out of control when he was emotional. It felt useless to rage when Vivia was only Noden knew where, when he realized how close he was to losing the sister he’d only just gotten back.

“We’ve got to get her back,” he heard himself say, but he felt oddly distant from the conversation. He wasn’t used to being this calm and he wasn’t entirely aware of how he was doing it—all he knew was that the Nihar rage that normally served him so well would do nothing this time. “We’ve got to rescue her.”

“Of course we do,” Iseult said soothingly. “But we need to make a strategy first, and under no circumstances can Kullen or you”—she turned to Stix— “go. If he wants the Paladins, we cannot afford for either of you to go into his trap.”

Aeduan nodded. “It goes without saying that you cannot go either. My father wants you dead, and Corlant wouldn’t hesitate to kill you either. We need to plan this carefully, which is why we should go back to the others now and decide on the best course of action.”

Stix didn’t look at all pleased, and she opened her mouth as if to protest, but then closed it again. “Fine,” she murmured, but her eyes were still wide and afraid. And, admittedly, Merik did not know Stacia Sotar as well as his sister did, but he thought she was giving in too easily. Only a minute ago, she had been almost aggressive in her insistence that they go find Vivia immediately. Now it was like she had shut down completely and quietly followed Iseult and Aeduan.

It might have been nothing, of course—might have been a natural reaction to the worry she felt for Vivia—but Merik made sure to walk behind Stix on their way back to the inn, just in case she tried to leave and take matters into her own hands. Just in case the fear had made her reckless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's been reading this fic so far - it's almost at 50,000 words and I've been having so much fun writing this!!


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hastily-made plan is put together by Arida for rescuing the Nubrevnan princess and managing to keep a certain Paladin out of danger while doing so. Meanwhile, Iseult must begin to come to terms with the fact that someone from her past has been much closer than she had originally thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter than some of the others, but it's what fits best with the plot I have mapped out. Also!! This is officially over 50,000 words and I just wanted to say thank you so much to everyone reading it so far!! :)

_Stasis_, Iseult told herself again and again as she began telling the others what had happened to Vivia Nihar. _Stasis in your fingers and in your toes._

But by the Moon Mother, it was hard to maintain that Threadwitch placidity when the Nubrevnan princess had just been kidnapped by Corlant. _Corlant_, someone that Iseult hadn’t even known was in Cartorra at all, and certainly not so close to her.

It was selfish of her to be so worried by Corlant when it was Vivia he posed a greater threat to at the present moment—but after everything that he had already put Iseult and Gretchya through, the knowledge that he was so nearby was enough to send her into a panic. Enough to make her voice shake a little in spite of her mental chant of _Stasis_.

“This man is dangerous?” Arida asked.

“Very,” Iseult said. She curled her fingers into a fist, trying to stop herself from fidgeting. “He’s a C-Cursewitch. He tried to kill me back in the Midenzi settlement.”

Arida’s eyes widened. “He’s a Cursewitch? I thought there was no such thing.”

“There is,” Iseult assured her, her hand absently straying to her right bicep where the cursed arrow had struck her. “And he will use the threat of taking away her Tidewitchery as an incentive for her to give him information. And he’ll use her life as an incentive for you to go to her.” She gestured to Stix.

“That doesn’t matter,” the captain protested, looking just as shaken as Iseult felt. “She’s my _friend_. I can’t leave her there to die. We can’t.”

Merik cautiously touched her shoulder in a gesture of comfort that was awkward but, judging by his Threads, sincere. “Of course we won’t. She’s my sister—I’d never abandon her.”

“None of us are suggesting that we abandon her,” Vaness interrupted. “But we do need to go about this sensibly, or else the Raider King would end up with more political hostages. We can’t afford to let that happen.”

“And as we said before, Iseult cannot go,” Aeduan said decisively. “Neither can Captain Ikray or Captain Sotar. Too much could go wrong.”

Iseult did not know if she wanted to agree with Aeduan or if she wanted to protest that she could go. It went against her instincts to acquiesce like that, but she also knew that he was thinking of the conversation they had had by the Amonra. Though Iseult wasn’t proud of it, she had panicked when Aeduan told her it was Corlant who had sent him to find her, and though she’d tried to hide it she knew that he could see just how frantic she was. She liked to think of herself as a calm person, but the idea that Corlant was here after everything he’d done….

Still, they had to rescue Vivia immediately, and Iseult couldn’t let her own fear get in the way of helping. She took a deep breath and then said, “I’m not going to stay behind. I can make a difference.”

“I know you can,” Aeduan replied quietly. “But Corlant wants to kill you, Iseult, and he would not hesitate to do it if he had the chance. We can’t let that happen.” The words were simple, but she heard the meaning behind them_. I won’t let that happen._

Although she appreciated him caring more than she would admit, Iseult still wouldn’t stand by and do nothing when the Nubrevnan princess had been kidnapped by a Cursewitch working for the Raider King. “If he tried to kill me, I could cleave him,” she reasoned.

“Absolutely not,” Aeduan countered, his eyes wide and horrified as he shook his head. “The last thing we want is him to be in your mind—and imagine if you accidentally used his powers, like what happened with the Firewitch.”

He made a good point. Though Iseult had managed to be in control at the end, the thought that anything of Corlant’s could be in her mind was terrifying.

“We need to stop arguing over _who_ is going to help rescue Vivia and start figuring out _how_,” Stix interrupted. “We don’t know where he’s taken her or how we’re going to get her away.”

“I can track her blood-scent—” Aeduan began.

“Then why aren’t you tracking her now? Why aren’t we searching for her? So many things could have gone wrong by now, and we have to do something!”

Arida’s Threads were a focused green, like she was deep in thought. “I have a plan,” she said slowly. “But no one’s going to like it.”

“The best plans usually begin with you telling me that,” Leopold told her, and Iseult was reminded that the two of them had apparently been friends for years. “Go on, please.”

“Stix, Aeduan, and I can go find the princess and, while Stix is pretending to give herself up to the Raider King, Aeduan and I will fight Corlant and the others long enough for us to get away with Vivia and Stix. Meanwhile the rest of you, minus the Hell-Bards, will go back to Praga to spy on the emperor.”

Leopold was silent for a long moment, his Threads bright with turquoise surprise and red disbelief. Then: “You’re right, Arida, I absolutely do not like that plan. Having a Paladin pretend to give herself up to the Raider King while you help fight an unknown number of raiders? Need I remind you that you barely know how to hold a weapon?”

“I don’t need to be good with a sword in order to be useful,” Arida retorted, holding up her Witchmarked hand. “If I tell the raiders to stand down, they’ll stand down without question.”

“The raiders might,” Leopold conceded, “but Corlant, a Cursewitch? Arida, by the time you opened your mouth to speak, he could have you struck by a cursed arrow and you’d never able to use your Wordwitchery again. If you even managed to survive.”

She didn’t back down. “Aeduan would be there too, as I said. Corlant can’t shoot the both of us at once—either I can get him to stop with my witchery, or Aeduan can stop his heart. It’s not ideal, of course, but it’s the only option we have.”

Iseult found it hard to believe that their only option was to do something so risky and, frankly, foolish. She understood that they were desperate, but there had to be a smarter way of going about this.

“And what about the rest of what you said?” Leopold asked. “About spying on my uncle back in Praga? To be honest, he’s the least of our problems right now.”

“I would agree with you,” Arida said, “if not for what he had ordered the Hell-Bards to do before…before everything. He wanted them to kill Empress Vaness, and it seems to me that he wouldn’t make a move so drastic if he wasn’t plotting something big. It can’t be about conquering Marstok like Caden suggested. Not even Henrick could think that was possible without a stronger plot than that.”

The prince tilted his head, seeming to pay a bit more attention to her idea than before. “You may have a point. Still, even if he _is_ plotting something, there’s only so much he will be able to do while his country is currently at war. Especially now that he doesn’t have a commander to lead the Hell-Bard brigade.”

“Exactly. Something about all of this just isn’t right.” Arida’s tone was getting heated, though not in a way that suggested she was angry at Leopold—rather, she sounded passionate about the idea, like she genuinely thought it could work. “But there’s no way to know why he’s doing the things he is unless we personally find out.”

“But why would Captain Sotar go to Princess Vivia in the first place?” Cam asked. “I know you two are close, but there’s no need to risk yourself if Aeduan and Arida are gonna be there to get the princess away.”

Stix’s eyes were blazing with emotion—judging by her Threads, a confusing combination of anger, worry, and passion. “Because I’d rather die than leave Vivia alone and—”

“Because seeing her will stop Corlant and the Raider King from acting hastily,” Arida cut in smoothly, providing a much calmer and more rational answer than Stix. “If they don’t see Stix, the person they’re looking for, they might hurt Vivia to prove a point, which is _not_ what we want. She has to go along with it, only briefly, for Vivia’s safety.”

“Then I’ll do it,” Stix said without question. “Aeduan, if your Bloodwitchery has recovered enough for you to track her, we can go right now.”

Ryber opened her mouth to say something, probably to tell Stix to calm down and think this through, but before she could speak Caden arrived at the doorway. “What’s going on?” he asked, seeming to notice how agitated everyone in the room was.

“My sister was kidnapped,” Merik explained, his jaw tight with anger. “We’re trying to figure out how to rescue her.”

“Kidnapped?” Caden’s Threads were pale with shock. “How? Who kidnapped her?”

“Corlant,” Safi answered. “A Cursewitch working for the Raider King. They’re using her as a hostage for Stix, which is why we need to get her free as quickly as possible.”

His eyes widened. “I’ll help,” he volunteered immediately. “I—well, I won’t be any use in a fight like this, but I’ll do what I can.”

“No, you should stay behind,” Leopold told him authoritatively. “You and Zander should stay here with Lev. The rest of us will be going back to Praga to try and find out what my uncle has been planning.”

Arida seemed surprised. “Does that mean you agree? That you think we should do it?”

“Absolutely not,” Vaness said, sounding appalled. “It is hardly a plan at all, and we would all probably get ourselves killed going along with it.”

Leopold, however, seemed to be having less misgivings than before. “There’s a chance it could go wrong, of course, but the same would be true for anything we could come up with. And it’s true, the less people who go to save Princess Vivia, the less can go wrong. If more people were to go, then there’s the possibility of someone getting hurt before we can get the princess away.”

“Listen to me,” Stix snapped. “I don’t care how many people come with me, or if no one does at all—but Vivia is all by herself in the middle of the mountain range with a Cursewitch who is apparently despicable, and only Noden knows who else, and if you all don’t decide what you’re doing right now, I swear to all the gods that I’ll go by myself.”

“I’ll come with you,” Iseult said before she could lose her nerve. Then, before Safi or Aeduan could protest, she added, “And I know it will be dangerous, and that’s exactly why I have to do it. If Stix being there isn’t enough to convince them that we mean to make the trade, seeing me will distract Corlant long enough for us to get Vivia away.”

Aeduan reached out and took her hand, his fingers closing over hers—and though she was surprised by him doing such a thing in plain sight of the others, she couldn’t say she wasn’t grateful for the comfort it gave her. However cowardly it might be, facing Corlant was the last thing she wanted to do now, or ever.

“No, Iz,” Safi protested. “No distraction is worth your life, and you know that.”

“He won’t kill me,” she insisted. At least, she was fairly sure. “He might try, but he’s tried before and it didn’t work. Besides, the _point_ is that he will be surprised to see me here and won’t know how to react. If Corlant is focusing on me, he can’t be focusing on Vivia.”

Aeduan gripped her hand more tightly. “No one could ask that of you,” he murmured, his voice quiet but loud enough for most of them to hear. “It’s not safe.”

“I know it isn’t safe, but neither is any other option we have.” Iseult took a deep breath. “Between you and Arida, as she said, the raiders shouldn’t be a problem. And if it comes down to it, I could cleave him.”

“Only if it’s absolutely necessary,” Aeduan reminded her. “You should not have to go through that.”

“Only if it’s absolutely necessary,” she promised.

Leopold sighed, his fatigued and reluctant expression aligning perfectly with his Threads. “Arida, I can say with confidence that this is the worst plan you’ve made yet, though it’s all we have at the moment.”

Arida nodded, then gestured for Iseult, Aeduan, and Stix to follow her and get ready. “Then let’s go find the princess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will hopefully be up soon, and I have some big twists planned that will be coming up shortly....


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tentative plan is put into motion with a great deal of misgivings amidst all of the possibilities for what could go wrong. Meanwhile, Vivia learns a secret that could harm herself and the others - but, isolated as she is, no one else has any way of knowing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another pretty cryptic summary...it's hard to come up with good summaries that don't give too much away! XD

It could very well be the first time he agreed with the Cartorran prince on anything, but Aeduan could wholeheartedly say that Leopold was right in saying that Arida’s plan was a dreadful one. The odds of it succeeding—or even simply not ending in disaster—were slim at best, and nonexistent at worst. But Iseult seemed determined to go along with it in the hopes of rescuing the Nubrevnan princess at any cost.

He was worried about her, though. He knew that Iseult could take care of herself, knew that she was very good at it, but he had also seen the look of fear that had flickered over her face when he’d told her that Corlant had sent him to find her. It felt like it had happened so long ago, but he remembered her expression with perfect clarity. Instead of her normal calm demeanor, she had been _scared_. Aeduan instinctively wanted to protect her from the person that frightened her by making sure she wouldn’t face him—only this time he couldn’t, at least not yet, so he would come with her.

But there was someone he had to talk to first.

Aeduan paused in the doorway of the room where Owl was sleeping, debating whether he should go inside. She looked so peaceful in slumber that he was hesitant to wake her, but he also knew that it would not be right to leave without telling her first.

So he crossed the room in quick but quiet strides and knelt down by the side of the bed. “Owl,” he whispered, hoping he would not startle her. “_Owl_.”

The girl began to stir, and when her eyes focused on Aeduan, they were wide with adoration. Her small hand reached out to grasp his, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Owl, I have to go somewhere,” he murmured, and the sudden sadness in her eyes was enough to make him wish he didn’t have to. “Only for a little while.”

“Leaving?” Owl asked, her mouth set in a mournful frown.

_I’ve let her down again, haven’t I? _“Not for long, Little Sister. I’d never abandon you. I have to help someone and it’s very important that I go do that now. But I’ll be back soon.”

“You promise?” Her tone was so hopeful that he couldn’t bring himself to tell her how uncertain the entire situation was.

“Yes, I promise,” Aeduan said, squeezing her hand in a way that he hoped was reassuring.

Owl’s face lit up, and she reached over to the bedside table to pick something up. “For you,” she explained as she pressed a small object into the palm of his hand. He looked down at the black stone, flecked with small crystals that looked like constellations. The longer he looked at it, the more he began to wonder if it was really black at all or if it was a dark gray playing tricks in the light.

“Where did you get this?” Aeduan asked, not understanding the rock’s significance but knowing it must mean something to her.

“She gave it to me,” the girl replied simply.

“Iseult?”

A happy nod. He hadn’t known that the two of them had gotten close to each other—in fact, he distinctly remembered them hating each other. But he supposed much had changed since he left them in Tirla.

“Then I’m sure that she meant for you to have it,” he told her. He attempted to give it back, but she shook her head.

“For you,” Owl insisted. “Good luck.”

Aeduan smiled and curled his fingers around the stone. “Thank you, then—I will give it back to you as soon as I return. How does that sound?”

She nodded again and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. It was strange and unfamiliar, for someone to be so openly trusting of him. Then again, she had been from the beginning.

When he came back to the others, Stix and Arida were ready and waiting for him to leave. Iseult was talking to her Threadsister in a quiet tone, apparently trying to reassure Safiya that she was going to be safe. While she clearly meant well, even Aeduan wasn’t sure that they would be safe, and he wished they had the time to consider other options.

“We have to _leave_,” Stix said, her voice filled with urgency. “Vivia needs our help.”

“She’s right,” Arida agreed. “We need to go—there will be time to talk later. This isn’t a good-bye, you know. We’ll be back.”

Aeduan wanted to admire her optimism, but he wasn’t so sure that it would be as easy as she was convinced it was. He knew Corlant, and he knew his father. If they wanted Stix, then they would find a way to get her at all costs.

Safiya hugged Iseult, murmuring something into her ear before letting go and forcing a smile. “Good luck then. And Iseult…stay safe.”

“Always,” she promised—then, taking a deep breath, she turned to Aeduan, Stix, and Arida. “Let’s go.”

Once they stepped outside, Aeduan inhaled deeply, trying to pinpoint where Vivia’s blood-scent was and how they would get there. Finally, he pointed southeast. “That way.”

“Are you sure?” Stix asked. “What if we go in the wrong direction?”

“I’m sure,” he snapped. Though he knew she was worried, he was the only person here who was capable of tracking the princess. Doubting his word would do nothing but slow them down.

He led the way, trusting that the others would follow him since they had no direction of their own. Behind him, he could hear Arida cheerfully assuring Stix that everything was going to be all right and that they were going to rescue Vivia. _Of course that is the goal_, Aeduan thought, _but she seems to be a little too positive. Does she have _that_ much confidence that her foolish plan will work?_

Iseult came up to walk beside him, and he glanced over at her. Snow crystals glittered in her dark hair, but luckily the storm was dying down. She had regained her composure, but he could still see the fear in her eyes.

“It is not too late,” he told her. “You can still go back.”

“Of course not,” Iseult insisted. “I’m perfectly capable of defending myself, and I meant what I said before. If Corlant realizes we are trying to help her escape, he might immediately attack, but seeing me…would be a shock.”

Aeduan sighed. “And if he diverts his attention to trying to kill _you_ instead, the distraction will not be worth it. Not at all.” _Be careful. Please._

“I will be _fine_.” She was silent for a long moment, looking around at the landscape surrounding them. “Where are we going?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just know this is the right direction. We should have brought Safiya or Caden—they know this area.”

Iseult nodded. “And Corlant isn’t even our only concern. There still could be patrols, and running into them could stop this all before it starts.”

He stopped dead in his tracks, because this was something he had not considered. “Then I can scout ahead,” he suggested. “You three can wait here, and I will come back shortly.”

“I’m coming with you,” she said flatly. Her tone left no room for argument. “The last few times you went scouting alone, you came back injured. You aren’t going by yourself.”

Aeduan felt oddly chastised, but he didn’t mind. Still, he would not feel completely at ease until they were far away from this entire situation. With some reluctance, he turned around to tell Stix and Arida to stay while they looked ahead for patrols. As he expected, this was met with protests.

“We don’t have any time to waste!” Stix exclaimed. “And I don’t care about the patrols. _Let _them come.” Her Witchmarked hand curled into a fist.

“There’s only so much one Waterwitch can do,” Arida reminded her gently. “You aren’t invincible. Besides, this won’t take long at all—if we want to get the princess back safely, we need to make sure there aren’t any patrols.”

“But—”

“_If _something were to happen to us,” Arida interrupted, “and we were either hurt or captured, what would happen then? There would be no one to rescue Vivia. Which is why we absolutely have to be smart about this.”

_If she wanted to do the smart thing, she shouldn’t have proposed this idea in the first place._

Stix looked like she wanted very much to protest, but that she didn’t immediately do so was enough agreement for Aeduan. He gestured for Iseult to follow him as he continued on through the woods in the direction of Vivia’s blood-scent.

“Don’t go too far, now,” Arida called. “We’ll both be here waiting.”

A few minutes passed in silence. There was nothing—no soldiers, no villages, _nothing_— and that was part of what made Aeduan so apprehensive. He could still smell Vivia’s blood, as well as Corlant’s and those of some people he didn’t know. But that was still far enough away that it was not an immediate threat.

Besides, something about leaving Stix behind made him uneasy, even if it was only so he and Iseult could briefly scout. She was the person they needed if they were going to fake a hostage exchange long enough for the princess to get away. If something were to happen to her....

As if reading his mind, Iseult turned to face him, a worried look in her hazel eyes. “I have a very bad feeling about this,” she whispered.

Vivia was dreaming. She didn’t know how or why she was aware of this, but she was unshakably sure of the fact that she _was_ dreaming. Even in spite of this certainty, that didn’t stop what she was experiencing from feeling impossibly real.

First a vision—she saw her mother, alive and before her. Jana looked just as she always had, her eyes wide and sympathetic. “Remember, my little fox, that you are just as strong as the others, if not stronger. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“But I don’t feel strong,” she protested, and her mother smiled gently.

“Oh, Vivia, none of us do. But the brave ones try anyway.”

Then a memory—the funeral, when Vivia had only just fully grasped the fact that her mother was dead and wasn’t coming back. Before had been the long, long denial, because how could she be gone? How could Vivia be so suddenly alone?

Her throat had been raw from crying and her voice had been hoarse from accepting condolences, but she somehow managed to say something to her brother. Something thoughtless, something cruel that she had regretted ever since. “You should be dead, and Mother should still be alive.”

Looking back on the moment, she knew she hadn’t meant it. But at the time, blaming Jana’s death on Merik had been easier than blaming it on herself or, worse, no one at all. Surely it had been someone’s fault. Surely something like that couldn’t just _happen_.

Then an image—she saw before her the view beneath the water-bridge and she felt, even though her mind told her otherwise, that she truly was there. It was chilling to know that, even though Vivia wouldn’t jump, Jana had. From the shadows in her mind to her own husband’s manipulation, Jana had chosen to make this her last sight, her last memory.

_But I wouldn’t jump._

_None of us feel strong._

_The brave ones try._

And then she felt like she was falling, and she sat bolt upright as consciousness abruptly returned to her.

“Nightmare, princess?”

And _then_ she remembered what had happened to her.

Corlant staring at her expectantly, waiting for an answer, but Vivia was more focused on observing her surroundings. They were indoors, which she would count as a blessing for now if it meant they were out of the cold. She’d never experienced storms like there were in the Orhin Mountains, being Nubrevnan, and she had no idea how people lived here.

She appeared to be in a bedroom that was too large to reasonably be a part of an inn. A mountain estate? From what she could tell through the window, the snowstorm had stopped and outside was a messy combination of sturdy pine trees and dying shrubbery. Too unkempt, she would have thought, for a noble estate, but there was no other explanation for where they could be.

Belatedly, she realized that she still hadn’t answered Corlant. Had she had a nightmare? She could see no harm in confirming his question, so she nodded once. “Yes.” Because while any kind of advice from her mother was welcome, the memories were too much while she already felt so weak and helpless.

“Hmm.” He didn’t seem to really be paying attention to her reply, which made her wonder why he had even asked.

“Where am I? How did we get here?” She had very little recollection of what had happened after he told her the real reason for her kidnapping.

Instead of being apprehensive of her questions or frustrated by them, Corlant didn’t seem to care about what she asked. Bored, even. “We walked here, though you probably don’t remember the last of it. You were dazed by the cold. And we are in the Hasstrel estate. The dom is an ally of the Raider King.”

After what had happened before back with the others, this wasn’t surprising to Vivia, but she wondered why Corlant was so free with his information. Perhaps he thought information about a Cartorran dom would be meaningless to her—or, worse, he planned to kill her even if Stix did arrive. The thought sobered her.

“Why are _you_ here?” she asked as another thought occurred to her. “If you’re as powerful as you claim you are, the Raider King must have better uses for you than to stand guard over me while I sleep.” _And it’ll be easier to run away without a Cursewitch looming over me._

“He must, but I have my orders and I’ll follow them. For now.” He leaned forward until he was looking Vivia directly in the eyes. “So, princess…there’s still time to change your story. Where is Stacia Sotar?”

She swallowed hard. “I told you, I don’t know. Vizer Quintay led me here, and—”

“Fine.” Corlant held up a hand to stop her from repeating the rest of the story. “I’m not convinced, but it’s easy enough to verify. Now, do you know a young Nomatsi woman named Iseult det Midenzi?”

“No,” Vivia said, hoping she looked suitably confused. “I don’t.”

He considered her response for a moment, then nodded. “That must be true. There is no reason for you to have met her.” He sighed as if disappointed. “Now I suppose we must wait for Captain Sotar to come for you.”

“She won’t,” Vivia insisted. “She doesn’t know what happened, and I don’t even know where she is.”

“Oh, we’ll get word to her,” Corlant said with a smile that was pure malice.

She blinked. “How?”

“You are full of questions, aren’t you, Vivia Nihar? One of our close allies is a Wordwitch, and as you must know, Wordwitches are the very best at spying.”

A Wordwitch. One of the Raider King’s closest allies was a Wordwitch. Oh gods, no. It couldn’t be.

“Arida?” Vivia gasped before she could stop herself, before she could remind herself that if it _was_ her, it would be a very bad idea to let Corlant know they were connected somehow.

He raised his eyebrows. “Yes. You know Arida?”

“O-only passingly,” she murmured, trying to undo the damage she had done. But her mind was spinning with what she had just learned. She had never known Arida very well, admittedly, but she had thought the Wordwitch was trustworthy.

_The others don’t know. The others don’t know that she’s working for the Raider King. _And now that Vivia had been captured, Arida could convince them to do whatever she wanted under the pretense of finding her—including persuading Stix to come. And even if the persuasion didn’t work, she was a Wordwitch. She could force a person to do her bidding.

Vivia knew that Corlant was looking at her strangely, but she couldn’t think of something to say that wouldn’t make everything worse. That wouldn’t reveal her horrified thoughts and worries that Stix would be brought to the Raider King, that Iseult would be forced to come with her to get to Corlant.

Leopold and Arida were close friends—was she lying to even him, or was he too involved in all of this? How deep did this betrayal go?

_As long as the others find out soon. No, find out _now_. _

_And as long as Arida and Stix are never alone together._

“Princess,” Corlant said, and Vivia looked up into his eyes. She saw no sympathy there. “Stacia Sotar is going to come here whether you want her to or not, so don’t try to lie to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh! I was super excited to write this chapter - it's a pretty major milestone in the fic that affects a lot of what's going to happen later on. I hope you liked it!!


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scheme. A rescue. A death. Iseult, Aeduan, Stix, and Arida work together to help Vivia Nihar escape from her captor in a daring plan that ends in a way no one could have expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "that ends in a way no one could have expected"....except for D, because I told you already lol 😂 This chapter was simultaneously easy to write since I'd planned it forever and hard because of the thoughts going on within Iseult's POV. Anyway, hope you like it!!

They found no patrols when they scouted ahead, but they did find an estate, and if Aeduan’s Bloodwitchery was any indication, it was where Vivia was being held. They didn’t go any closer in case it was a trap, and because they had to get back to the others before they proceeded with the plan.

Iseult still wasn’t confident that this was going to work, and there was only so much that repeating _Stasis_ in her mind could do. Still, she couldn’t see another option if they were to get the Nubrevnan princess back.

When she and Aeduan returned to the clearing they’d left, the other two were in the middle of a conversation. “Do you trust me?” Arida was asking, apparently in the middle of making her point.

“Yes, but—what did you find?” Stix turned to Iseult and Aeduan in the middle of her answer as she realized that they had returned. “Do you know where he has her?”

Iseult nodded. “There’s an estate not far ahead, and that is where she is. Apparently they’re closer than we thought.”

Without another word, they kept going forward with even more determination now. Now they had a closer goal and destination that was marginally less vague.

As they drew closer to the estate, Iseult noticed that it was anything but well looked-after. There was a rather haphazard arrangement of bushes and thin trees that seemed to be barely surviving the environment of the Orhin Mountains, and the front gate was nearly falling apart. It wouldn’t be successful at keeping anyone out, if not for the armed raiders guarding its entrance.

“I think this is the Hasstrel estate,” Iseult announced. She would have wondered why the raiders were there, but after learning of Eron fon Hasstrel’s allegiance, their presence didn’t surprise her.

“Are you sure?” Stix asked. She had been questioning almost everything that the others said since they left the inn.

Iseult nodded patiently. “Safi has told me a lot about her uncle’s estate. I’m absolutely sure that this is it.”

“The princess is there,” Aeduan confirmed. “Somewhere in the estate. I can sense her blood-scent, and it’s close.”

“Maybe we should do this more cautiously,” Arida suggested. “Just Stix and I could go ahead and find Vivia. It isn’t necessary for you two to risk yourselves when we’re capable of rescuing the princess on our own.”

“You _just _told Stix that she wasn’t invincible,” Iseult reminded her. “The same goes for you. It isn’t any less safe for you two than it is for us.” It was only a small lie.

Arida sighed, her Threads a confusing shade of blue disappointment. “Then let’s go. I can take care of the raiders at the gate.”

Blades were drawn distrustfully as Iseult and the others approached, but Arida stepped in front of Iseult and faced the raiders. “Lower your weapons,” she said carelessly, but her voice rang with the clarity that came with her Wordwitchery. “And let us in.”

The raiders immediately sheathed their blades and opened the gate, gesturing for them to go inside. While Iseult knew it was necessary for them to help Vivia, she didn’t like seeing the Wordwitch’s abilities at work. It made people too obedient, like puppets—which only reminded her of another person she didn’t want to think about.

But Esme was far away now, and Corlant was much, _much_ closer. If Aeduan’s senses were right, which they had to be, he was in the estate right now. The same estate as Iseult.

“He will not hurt you,” Aeduan murmured, and she jumped at the sound of his voice. She hadn’t realized he was so close to her until he began talking. “I wouldn’t let that happen.”

“I-I’m not worried about that,” Iseult stammered, not sure if she was telling the truth or not. It felt unimaginably selfish to be concerned about herself when Corlant was holding someone else hostage, but Iseult didn’t know how much of her worry was solely directed at her own well-being. Most, she thought, was of the uncertainty, the knowledge that she had no idea what he would try to do once he saw her again.

Aeduan stopped leading them to where Vivia must be and turned to Iseult. “If you put up the hood of your cloak and keep your head down, he will not be able to see your face.”

“But I need to be able to distract him long enough for Vivia to get away,” she protested. “That’s why I came.”

“Then distract him, but only if and when it’s necessary. And if it is not necessary, then you can stay hidden and safe the entire time, which is best for all of us.” He reached up and gently pulled up her hood, his thumb brushing against her cheek comfortingly. She felt childish for reacting this way, but at the same time she was calmed slightly by Aeduan’s steady presence.

Arida drew in a sharp breath behind her. “He’s seen us out here.”

“How do you know?” Stix asked.

“Because he’s coming toward us and bringing the princess with him.”

And he was. A tall figure was heading in their direction with someone else close by their side, and though they were still too far away to be recognizable, Iseult knew Corlant’s Threads. She had seen them often enough growing up for them to be familiar to her.

“If he’s hurt her….” Stix trailed off and tried to run forward to Vivia, but Aeduan stepped in front of her and grabbed her shoulders so she stopped.

“Let him come to us,” he explained. “Running ahead will do nothing except give yourself less protection.”

“Look at me,” Arida told Stix quietly, and she did. “Calm down,” the Wordwitch murmured. Her voice sounded a little _too_ soothing to be completely absent of her magic. “Don’t go to Corlant. It will be fine.”

Stix took a deep breath, her eyes going wide and glassy. Almost blank. She didn’t look _calm_ exactly, but she had stopped trying to run.

Arida opened her mouth to say something else, but Iseult interrupted before she could. “Stop it! Stop doing that to her.” Seeing Arida use her Wordwitchery still wasn’t normal to her, and she didn’t like the idea of it being used against a friend.

“I was just trying to help,” she explained. “We can’t have her rushing forward and getting kidnapped.” Thankfully, though, she didn’t finish whatever it was she had been about to say.

In what felt like no time at all, Corlant and Vivia had gotten well within Iseult’s range of sight, and soon they were close enough to easily converse. She quickly reached up to make sure her hood was still in place, making it impossible for Corlant to see her face.

Vivia’s eyes widened when they landed on Stix, and she began gesturing frantically. Over and over again, she mouthed the words _No. Go back._

“None of that, princess,” Corlant chided, raising a sharp-looking knife to her throat in one swift motion. He stared at Stix expectantly. “You know how this works, Sotar. Step forward and I’ll let Vivia Nihar go free.”

Stix’s lips moved soundlessly, mouthing _Please._ Her dark eyes were pained and desperate, but she made no move to go forward—and Iseult realized she was still under Arida’s control, and she had told her not to go to Corlant. She was physically unable to do it.

“_Now_,” Corlant ordered. Iseult wasn’t sure if it was what Aeduan had meant by “only if necessary,” but no one else was making a move and she had to do something. So before she could lose her nerve, she slipped off the hood of her cloak and watched as Corlant’s gaze turned to her.

She saw the surprise that flooded through his face when he immediately recognized her, saw the utter shock that made him subconsciously lower his hand that held the knife. Vivia seized the opportunity and dove to the side, away from the blade and the Cursewitch who held it. Instead of stopping her, Corlant’s attention was fixed on Iseult.

Arida darted forward towards Vivia, probably to make sure she was safe. But instead of being relieved by the rescue, the only color in the princess’s Threads was gray fear as she flinched away from Arida.

The Wordwitch stopped dead in her tracks, seemingly confused by why Vivia would pull away from someone she knew to be an ally. Iseult was too, for that matter. The only explanation for her flinching like that was that Corlant had done something to her.

“Vivia,” Stix breathed, and ran to her without another word. Iseult supposed that either Arida’s control over her had broken, or she was capable of going to Vivia since she wasn’t Corlant.

Iseult knew she shouldn’t be distracted, but she couldn’t help from paying more attention to what might be wrong with Vivia—and when Threads drew her focus to the raiders that were beginning to approach, she turned around.

“_Drop the knife!_” Arida screamed. The Wordwitchery was so thick in her voice that even though Iseult wasn’t targeted by the order and even though she wasn’t armed, Iseult’s fist still opened against her will as though releasing a blade. She whirled around to see that Corlant had lunged at her with the knife as soon as she turned her back. His hand was still extended, though he’d dropped the knife as Arida had told him. He stood frozen in place—_familiarly_ frozen, as if Aeduan had stopped his blood.

“Iseult!” Aeduan shouted. She wasn’t sure if it was meant as a reminder that raiders were arriving quickly, or as a warning that he couldn’t maintain his hold over Corlant’s blood for long. For the sake of caution, she assumed the latter.

Iseult didn’t have the time to question her options, and she wasn’t even sure if she had any. She ducked down and grabbed the knife, her fingers wrapping around its hilt just as Aeduan lost his grip on Corlant’s blood. The Cursewitch stumbled as the ability to move suddenly returned to him, his eyes widening as he saw Iseult rising to her feet with the blade in her hand. He tried to dodge to the side, but the effects of Aeduan’s Bloodwitchery had left him dazed and slow. His eyes locked with hers in a moment of frightening clarity before Iseult drove the knife into his heart.

Corlant inhaled sharply, his Threads pale with pain and shock. There was something in his eyes that told her that he hadn’t really thought she would do it.

But she didn’t release her hold on the blade even after she had stabbed him, and she fell to her knees beside him when he collapsed to the ground. Even though she wasn’t the one bleeding to death, her breaths were uneven. She had just stabbed Corlant. The blade was in her hand. Iseult had killed before in self-defense, and this simultaneously felt so much worse and so much better.

Blood pooled around the blade, wet and sticky against her fingers, but she still didn’t let go. For some reason, she was afraid to let go, even though she knew the wound was fatal.

“It’s too late,” Corlant managed hoarsely, his eyes flicking to behind Iseult. This time she wasn’t stupid enough to turn around. “You’ve…lost.”

Iseult wasn’t sure what he meant by them having lost, or even how coherent he was at this point. He wouldn’t be alive for much longer with a direct wound to the heart. Before she could lose her nerve, she gripped the hilt tighter and wrenched the knife from his chest. He drew in a shuddering, strangled breath, his ashen features tight with pain.

She could have stood up and walked away instead of waiting for him to die, but some part of her needed to see it for her to be sure it was real. For her to be certain that he wouldn’t come back ever again.

“You look…like her,” Corlant gasped. His dark eyes were fading fast, but there was still so much hate behind them. “G-Gretchya.”

He spat his last words like an insult. She bore them like a badge of honor.

“I’m glad,” Iseult said—and though her thoughts were anything but, she somehow managed to keep her voice steady. She and Gretchya had never been especially close, but nothing brought Iseult more satisfaction than knowing that he thought them alike in his final moments. With what Iseult had just done, it was almost as though her mother had also played a part in this—which felt so fitting that she was able to regain her outer calm.

Corlant tried to say something else, but the words didn’t come out. His face was deathly pale and his breaths were shallow. He was losing so much blood, and her hands were covered in it, in both the literal and figurative sense. She wondered if it was right for her to be finding so much relief in someone’s dying moments.

But she couldn’t look away as his eyes went unfocused, as his head tipped sideways and his breathing stopped. Iseult remained frozen in place for what seemed like an eternity but was probably no time at all, and then she felt someone’s hand on her shoulder.

“Iseult,” Aeduan murmured. “The raiders will be here soon. We need to leave.”

“J-just a moment.” She couldn’t keep the stammer out of her voice. She leaned forward to check for a pulse, but her hands were shaking too badly.

Aeduan knelt beside her. “Look at me,” he said gently, and she tore her eyes away from Corlant to meet his steady, pale blue gaze. “He’s dead, Iseult. You do not have to worry about him anymore.”

She knew he was right, but she had to make sure, had to be absolutely certain that this was over. Her trembling fingers pressed against Corlant’s neck. No heartbeat.

“_Iseult_,” Aeduan repeated insistently. “We have to go. It isn’t safe to stay here any longer.”

“I-I know, but….” Iseult trailed off, wondering why she felt so conflicted inside. Corlant was dead. He couldn’t hurt Iseult or Gretchya or anyone else ever again. She was relieved, but part of her worried that she was too happy. And part of her wasn’t happy at all, but confused and scared even though she had just checked his pulse and found none.

“It’s all right,” Aeduan whispered as if he could hear her thoughts and he was trying to comfort her. He rose to his feet. “Can you get up?”

She nodded shakily, but she was still grateful when he offered her his hand to help her up. He didn’t seem to mind the blood on her hands, or that she made no move to pick up the knife.

Iseult didn’t know if Vivia was hurt or not, but there wasn’t any time to check. The princess was on her feet and was capable of walking, so for now that had to be enough.

Arida beckoned frantically for Aeduan and Iseult to follow her back the way they’d come, and Iseult didn’t have the time to think about Corlant any longer. Out of the corner of her vision, she saw Stix grab Vivia’s hand and follow as well.

Time seemed to pass in an almost surreal haze, and Iseult wasn’t sure how long it had been since they left the Hasstrel estate grounds. All she was aware of was moving at as quick a pace as possible to make sure that they weren’t being followed by the raiders, and finally escaping their Threads with the knowledge that they’d gotten away. For now.

Aeduan led them off the path in the woods to a safer place for them to rest and make sure everyone was unharmed. Iseult sat down hard on a fallen pine tree, her hands still shaking even if she wasn’t entirely sure why. Dimly, she noticed Stix and Vivia embracing tightly and speaking to each other in quiet murmurs.

“He was going to kill you,” Aeduan reminded her, sitting down next to her and looking her in the eyes again. It took a moment for her to register the fact that he was speaking in Nomatsi. “There was nothing else you could have done.”

“Oh, it’s—it’s not that. I’ve killed before.” Though she didn’t say the rest aloud, she knew that he heard it. _I’ve killed to save you. _“B-but somehow this isn’t the same. I have known Corlant since I was a _child_. I’ve even wished he were dead sometimes, because I knew it would make our lives easier. But this is different.”

And then she told Aeduan everything—the way Corlant had acted in the Midenzi settlement growing up, what he had done to Gretchya, how he had told the other Nomatsis that Iseult was the Puppeteer, and why she had been so scared when Aeduan mentioned him by the Amonra. She told him how conflicted she felt about having killed him, how she was glad that he was gone but how she felt guilty over just how satisfying it had felt.

Aeduan wrapped his arms around her, not seeming to care that Vivia, Stix, and Arida were there. “I know, Iseult,” he whispered. And since there was no way he could have already known the things she’d just told him, she had to assume he meant that he knew how she felt. The idea that he understood this was just as comforting as his embrace, and when she leaned her head against his shoulder, she finally felt safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is going to have a lot of Vivia x Stix in it. What can I say? I love Vix and they just got reunited, after all.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An emotional reunion is interrupted by the sharing of the secret that Vivia learned during her captivity. A plan must be put into place to distance themselves from the traitor. Meanwhile, Safi finds herself increasingly worried about her Threadsister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I backed up a bit, chronologically, to retell part of the previous chapter from Stix's perspective. Then it resumes the normal pace again and will also switch to Safi's POV.

Stix had never felt so helpless as when Corlant ordered her to step forward and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t. She was frozen by Arida’s Wordwitched command, even though every instinct in her body screamed for her to go if it would save Vivia. Her legs wouldn’t move. She stayed impossibly still.

“Please,” she tried to say, but no sound came out. She wasn’t sure who exactly she was talking to, or how she was going to finish the sentence. Pleading with Arida to let her go? Pleading with Corlant to free Vivia?

Her hands were shaking from fear and frustration, but she still couldn’t move. _Please, Arida. Stop. _Her gaze was locked on the knife pressed to Vivia’s throat. All it would take would be one quick movement of his hand, and….

No. She couldn’t think about that.

Out of the corner of her vision, she saw Iseult stepping forward and taking her hood down so Corlant could see her face. The Cursewitch froze. Slowly, almost as if he wasn’t aware of it, he dropped the hand that held the blade as he focused on Iseult instead.

Immediately, Vivia leapt to the side, dropping to the ground to get away from Corlant. Arida rushed forward, and Stix knew that she should be the one going to make sure Vivia was all right. It should be her. She should be there for her friend.

As the Wordwitch drew closer, Vivia’s eyes widened with fear and she flinched. _Oh Noden, no._ All Arida had done was reach out a hand to help her up—a thoroughly nonthreatening gesture, and it didn’t make sense for her to be recoiling away from it.

_Unless she’s frightened or traumatized. Unless Corlant hurt her._

“Vivia,” Stix whispered, her heart pounding. This time when she tried to step forward, she was somehow able to do so. Without thinking or rationalizing at all, she ran to Vivia, pushing past Arida to get to her friend. “It’s all right,” she murmured soothingly, kneeling down beside her. “You’ll be safe.”

“Stix,” Vivia said—and this time, she didn’t flinch away. Her eyes, however, were still wide and scared. “You shouldn’t have come here. It’s a trap. Corlant wants—”

“I don’t care,” Stix told her, and it was the truth. “I don’t care if it’s a trap. You know I’d always come for you.” She carefully reached out to take Vivia’s hand, hoping it was reassuring. “Can you stand?”

She nodded. “Of course. But you don’t understand, he’s a _Cursewitch_.”

“I know. We have a plan. Now come on, we have to get out of here. It’ll be all right, I promise.” Stix helped her stand, and as Vivia had insisted, she seemed steady enough on her feet. She realized, belatedly, that she was still holding her hand—and instantly didn’t care, because in that moment there was nothing that could have convinced her to let go.

She heard Arida shouting for Corlant to drop the knife and assumed that he must have tried to attack Iseult. Though she knew it would be wise to turn around and see what was happening, she had to focus on Vivia first. She was more important.

“Where are you hurt?” Stix demanded, looking her in the eyes. “What did he do to you?”

“N-nowhere,” Vivia stammered, looking confused and afraid and everything in between. “He didn’t hurt me.”

She exhaled, unspeakably relieved that she was all right, but that still didn’t explain what had happened before. “Then why did you flinch away from Arida?”

“I…I didn’t want her using her Wordwitchery on me,” Vivia said quickly, looking behind Stix to where Arida presumably was.

“But she wouldn’t do that. She was trying to help you.” _Though apparently she would use it on me. I’m not sure if I should forgive her for that._

Vivia nodded shakily. “I know. I wasn’t thinking. But we need to go, Corlant will have other people coming soon and—” she stopped abruptly, her gaze locked behind Stix. Her jaw dropped slightly, and Stix immediately turned around to see what was going on.

Iseult had stabbed Corlant in the chest, and he was either dead already or not far from it. In unison, Vivia and Stix started forward in their direction, but Aeduan held out an arm to stop them from continuing. “Wait,” he told them, cautiously making his way towards Iseult. He spoke to her quietly, with more gentleness than she would have expected from a Bloodwitch.

Stix knew that Iseult must be shaken up by what she had just done, but she also knew that they had to get out of here before anyone else arrived. There would be no point in having rescued Vivia at this point if they were going to be trapped in this estate.

“Let me talk to her,” Arida offered, taking a step forward. “I can help her calm down and get up.”

“No!” Vivia exclaimed, jumping in front of her before she could go any further. “I-I mean, don’t do that. Just let Aeduan talk to her.”

Arida frowned, looking confused. Stix was too, for that matter. She hadn’t liked being controlled by her Wordwitchery—had hated it, in fact, but this time it seemed like it might be necessary. Iseult wasn’t showing any signs of standing up, and they _had_ to leave.

Stix was about to ask why Vivia was so insistent on the matter, but then she saw Aeduan help Iseult to her feet. _Thank Noden, it worked. _And then they were running, and Stix didn’t look back until Aeduan slowed down and gestured for them to leave the path. They seemed to be out of harm’s way, at least for now.

As soon as they stopped, Stix pulled Vivia into a hug, holding onto her as if she could show just how relieved she was by embracing her more tightly. “You’re safe,” she whispered, not sure if she was trying to reassure Vivia or herself. “You’re safe now.”

“Stix,” her friend murmured, if anything holding her tighter. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gone off by myself in the first place. It was foolish of me.”

“You were just kidnapped and held captive by a Cursewitch,” Stix reminded her softly. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m just glad that you’re back.”

Vivia pulled away to look Stix in the eyes, managing an awkward but clearly sincere smile. “So am I. He said that the Raider King wanted you, that he had many uses for ‘people like you.’”

“Aeduan and Iseult said they think it’s because I am a Paladin,” Stix hastily explained. “Though I don’t know what the Raider King would want with the Paladins. The important thing is that you’re safe—you aren’t injured? At all?”

“Not at all,” Vivia confirmed. “He threatened me plenty of times, but as I said, he never hurt me. I…I learned something, though. Something important. I don’t know if I can say it here.”

_Something important? _“Of course you can. We’re safe here.”

“I’ll say it later,” she promised, her eyes widening with fear again, and it broke Stix’s heart to see that. She shouldn’t look so afraid now that Corlant was dead and she was away from him for good, especially not now that she was surrounded by friends. “When you and I are alone.”

“If—if it makes you more comfortable,” Stix said, baffled. “But if it’s really important, you can just whisper it to me now. No one else is paying attention.” She checked to make sure her claim was true, and saw that Aeduan and Iseult were sitting side-by-side and talking to each other quietly. As she watched, Aeduan reached over and hugged Iseult, whispering in her ear in a way that seemed entirely more familiar than she’d thought the two were with each other. Arida, meanwhile, was pacing back and forth in the clearing, seemingly lost in thought.

Vivia bit her lip worriedly, glancing around before taking a step closer to Stix. “You don’t understand,” she whispered. “If _someone_ were to hear, and know that I know, it would mean bad things. For everyone here, and everyone else we know. We’ll have to do something about it, but we can’t right now. Promise me you’ll keep this a secret while we’re here.”

“I promise,” Stix pledged immediately. If Vivia wanted her to keep a secret, then she would keep it without question. And now she had to know whatever this was.

“I found out that someone’s working with the Raider King,” she muttered all in a rush. “Someone here with us, and I don’t know what to do. We can’t keep working with them, but if they find out that I know, they’ll kill us. Or hand us in.”

Vivia was right. This was bad. Whoever it was, they all had dangerous abilities that could easily be used against Stix and Vivia, but they also couldn’t keep waiting to be betrayed.

Who could it be, though? Stix found it impossible to believe that it was Iseult—her hatred of Corlant was too deep to be a ploy, and she wouldn’t have gone as far as to kill him if they were truly allies.

There was still much they didn’t know about Arida, though. Perhaps this had been one of the many things the Wordwitch was hiding. On the other hand, Aeduan was the Raider King’s _son_. He had more of a reason than anyone to be working with him, and countless ways of obeying his orders.

“Tell me who it is,” Stix whispered, “and we’ll figure this out together, I promise.”

“Arida,” Vivia breathed, barely moving her lips. But she heard it all the same.

This explained so much that it left Stix thunderstruck. This must have been why Vivia flinched when Arida tried to help her up—because she was afraid that the Wordwitch would force her to stay in place or even attack the others. This must have been why she was so insistent that Arida not use her witchery on Iseult, because she didn’t want her to have any advantage over the others. And Vivia was right that they couldn’t reveal the fact that they knew, at least not yet. Stix knew firsthand how easy it was to become under Arida’s absolute control.

Now that she thought about it, she realized that the entire “plan” might have just been a setup for getting Stix captured by Corlant. In her panic, she hadn’t considered how impractical Arida’s scheme was, and it now seemed perfectly plausible for her to propose such a plan in the hopes of intentionally letting it fail. Stix would be taken, and likely so would Iseult—but Aeduan and Vivia, the ones who would return back to the others, would still have no idea of where Arida’s allegiance truly lay.

“Did you learn anything else?” she asked, trying to stay rational. “About…her plans, or if anyone else we know is working with him?”

“No,” Vivia replied in a hushed voice. “Just Arida. As far as I know, at least. But Stix, what are we going to do? We have to let everyone else know somehow.”

She made a good point. Short of asking Aeduan and Iseult to come and privately talk to them, which would seem very suspicious, Stix couldn’t think of a way to subtly warn them of Arida’s intents.

Frantically, she tried to think of some kind of strategy. “We could…play along until we get back to the inn. The others probably haven’t left yet. _Then_ we could confront her, and even if she uses her Wordwitchery on us, the Hell-Bards will be immune.”

“Not anymore,” Vivia reminded her. “And even if they still were, three—or more realistically, two—people wouldn’t be any use against Arida if she has all of us under her control.”

“Maybe not confront her then,” Stix amended. “But ask her to do something and while she’s away, tell the others what we know. We could leave right then and there and be away from her.”

Vivia thought about it, then nodded. “That might work. Until then we can’t act any different than normal in case she suspects, but…be careful. Try not to be alone with her at any point.”

Stix mirrored her nod, then noticed that Arida had stopped pacing and was looking over at them. “I was so scared when I went looking for you and you were missing,” Stix said in a slightly louder voice than before, hoping Vivia understood why she was changing the subject. “You don’t know how relieved I am that you’re unhurt.”

She seemed to understand, because she embraced Stix again without another word about Arida. When she leaned in to whisper in her ear, Stix expected her to say something else about what they should do or how to stay safe through this—but instead, she murmured, “Thank you for being there for me.”

“I’ll always be there for you, Vivia.” And the world might be falling apart in lies around them, but that much, she knew, was true.

In spite of the many things that could go wrong with what was about to happen, Safi hadn’t been _seriously_ worried when the others left. Concerned, of course, and with a great deal of hope that they would return as soon as possible. But she had faith in her Threadsister, and she knew that Iseult would take care of herself as she always did. No, she’d been confident that the mission would go successfully.

The longer they were away, however, the less true that became. Her mind began to spin with the possibilities, until she couldn’t be alone with her thoughts any longer.

“Is something wrong?” Zander asked her, looking wary.

“Everything’s fine,” Safi assured him, her fingers tapping restlessly against her thigh. “It’s just that Iseult’s away risking her life to save the princess, and I’m not good at sitting still.”

“Why are you sitting still?” Caden interjected. “I thought you said you would be going to Praga to gather information about the emperor.”

Safi laughed. “No, we’re not doing that. Leopold and Arida were set on it for some reason, but the rest of us agree that we would have to have a death wish in order to go back there with no good purpose. As you remember…the last time, that didn’t go well at all.”

“But the last time we had a reason for going there,” Lev reasoned.

She laughed again, but this time with no trace of humor in it. This time it was so clearly fake that her own Truthwitchery objected to it. “Yes, well. Apparently that reason wasn’t a good one after all.”

Caden frowned. “You couldn’t have known that your uncle was conspiring with the Raider King. You know you did the right thing, Safi.”

“But I _should_ have known. There were so many signs that I ignored because I was so stupid. If I had just thought things through for once, none of this would have happened. You three wouldn’t have almost died, and we would all be actually doing something useful right now.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Lev said, leaning over to touch her arm reassuringly and wincing at the movement. Safi gently pushed her back, but she appreciated the thought. “You’ve done a lot of stupid things, but trying to save someone’s life isn’t one of them.”

“She’s right,” Caden agreed. “Even if you had known about your uncle, you still would’ve tried to rescue him, which is perfectly reasonable. I don’t think you would have let him die, and I don’t think you should have either. Family is complicated.”

_Family is complicated. _She had always known that, but it seemed especially true as of late.

Suddenly her Threadstone began flickering. “Iseult,” she exclaimed, reaching up to touch the stone and hoping it was wrong, even though she knew it wouldn’t be. Her Threadsister was in danger.

“Don’t worry,” Caden told her, reaching out to take her hand in his. “You knew she would be going into a dangerous situation, but she’s definitely able to take care of herself, and she’ll be all right.”

Safi tried to force a smile, but she knew he would be able to see through it. “I know, I just…I should be there with her like I always have been. I shouldn’t be here right now.”

“It would be too risky for you to go,” Zander reminded her. “You’re a Truthwitch.”

She knew it was true, but that didn’t make it any easier for her to watch the blinking Threadstone until it finally stopped flickering, and she didn’t know whether to be grateful or terrified. If something truly bad had happened to Iseult, she would know it, wouldn’t she? She would know.

Caden opened his mouth to say something else, but someone cleared their throat from the doorway. Safi turned to find Merik standing there with a scowl. “Empress Vaness wants to talk to you,” he said without preamble.

She wasn’t sure exactly what she had done to make him upset, or maybe he was just worried about his sister, but she didn’t have the motivation to question him about it. “Me?” she asked for clarification.

“Yes,” Merik sighed—leaving Safi to wonder why he was the one telling her about it instead of Vaness herself. The empress wasn’t above asking someone to do menial tasks for her if they were being bothersome, but it certainly wasn’t like Merik to obey.

“All right,” Safi replied, standing up and following him out the door, subdued by her concern for Iseult. The Threadstone wasn’t flashing with light anymore, but all that meant was that she wasn’t _imminently_ in a perilous situation.

They had just gone a few steps down the hallway when Merik stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. “What was that about?” he demanded, gesturing to the room she had just left.

“What was…what about?” she asked, confused.

He rolled his eyes like she was playing dumb, but she genuinely did not understand. “I saw you in there. You were holding his hand.”

Safi stared at him for a moment, made speechless by the conclusions he must have drawn. Then she laughed, a high-pitched and hysterical laugh that made her sound just as crazy as she felt. “Merik, within the past few days, I’ve saved my uncle from certain death, lost three friends, got them back, and realized that the uncle I rescued is working for the Raider King that wants us all dead. Before all of this, even more tense and emotionally draining things have been happening.”

She took a deep breath and realized that her voice had been rising uncontrollably. His eyebrows were raised, either at her volume or the situation or both. She didn’t care. “And now on top of everything, my Threadsister has personally gone to face a Cursewitch in order to rescue a kidnapped princess, and my Threadstone just said that Iseult was in danger. Meanwhile I’m stuck here helpless and unable to do anything that matters—so you’ll _forgive_ me if Caden wanted to comfort me and be a good friend.”

“I—” Merik began, but she pushed past him and kept walking to go see what Vaness wanted to talk about. It might not be fair to leave him without giving him a chance to answer her, but there were very few things she had the patience for at the moment. Dealing with Merik Nihar was not one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you @un-empressed on Tumblr for that post you made this morning 🙂 It was really sweet of you, and I'm so glad you're enjoying this so far!!


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> True loyalties are revealed in a sudden announcement that shocks many and sparks great disagreement even amongst allies. In a time such as this, choices must be made as to who to distrust and who to believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly starting to feel like the chapter summaries are just a space for me to be lazily cryptic about the actual chapter's content. Maybe I should do actual summaries lol. Hope you enjoy!

The whole way back to the others, Aeduan made sure to walk as close to Iseult’s side as possible. He didn’t want her to feel as lost and alone as she had seemed after she stabbed Corlant, and now that he knew the personal history between them, he wanted to stay beside her.

Vivia and Stix also seemed inclined to remain close by, walking hand in hand as though determined not to be separated again. Every so often, Stix would lean over and whisper something to Vivia—and Aeduan _could_ eavesdrop if he were so inclined, but he didn’t care what they were saying enough to actually listen.

Just when Aeduan was wondering if they were lost and were going in the wrong direction entirely, Arida gestured triumphantly ahead of them and he realized, abruptly, that they had left the forest and were at the village already. He blinked. He had remembered that the trees seemed to mask the village’s very existence, but this seemed like more than that. He hadn’t sensed any other human life just a moment ago, but now the blood-scents belonging to Safiya and the others were all but impossible to miss.

“Wait,” Vivia said, stopping in her tracks. “I don’t understand. Corlant said that he couldn’t see anything here but mountains and forests.”

“The village is glamoured,” Arida answered. “At least, it is at the moment, so no one would be able to see it unless they got within the range of the glamour. Which would be highly unlikely, with no visible reason for them to keep going. I promise I’ll explain more once we get back to the others.”

Aeduan distinctly remembered such a thing being said at least once before regarding the same topic, but he decided not to mention that for the time being. Instead, he kept walking and trusted that they would follow him rather than continue on the conversation that could easily be done at a different time.

In the back of his mind, though, he had no idea how that could be true. The only Glamourwitch he had ever met was in Veñaza City and as far as Aeduan was aware, he hadn’t gone anywhere.

They had barely opened the door to the inn when Safiya was grabbing Iseult’s arms and pulling her into a tight hug. “Iz! Are you all right? My Threadstone said you were in danger—are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Iseult said to her Threadsister, giving her a small smile and returning the embrace. “And we did it, Saf. We got her away safely.”

Safiya pulled away, looking at Iseult intently. “That’s wonderful, Iz, but what aren’t you telling me? It can’t have been that easy.”

She took a deep breath, then said it. “I killed Corlant.”

“Oh, Iseult, tell me you didn’t cleave him—”

“I didn’t cleave him. I stabbed him in the heart with a knife. He was going to kill me if I didn’t do it.”

Safiya hugged her even tighter this time, whispering what Aeduan assumed were words of comfort. Then, audibly: “You did what you had to do. And we all know that the world is better off without him.”

“Maybe so, but…it’s confusing. I feel like I can’t explain.” Iseult was looking calmer than she had been immediately after Corlant’s death, but she still seemed shaken up enough that Aeduan wished he could be the one holding her. Logically, though, he knew that Safiya would never let him get between her and her Threadsister, especially at the present moment.

“It’s all right, Iseult. You’re here now and you aren’t hurt. That’s all that matters.”

Merik, Kullen, Ryber, and Cam were all crowding around Vivia and Stix, ensuring that neither of them were injured. Merik seemed to be especially relieved to see his sister back and well, asking question after question to make sure she hadn’t been harmed during her captivity. Meanwhile, Leopold stopped midsentence in his conversation with Caden to turn to Arida and begin talking to her as if he’d forgotten about the Hell-Bard commander.

Only one person rushed forward to greet Aeduan, but the bright smile on her face was enough to make him smile back. He bent down to pick up Owl, hoping that the girl hadn’t been too worried in his absence.

“You’re back,” she said simply, her wide eyes staring into his.

“Yes, I am,” Aeduan replied. “I did promise I would return soon.” He gently set her down again and met Iseult’s gaze. She beckoned for him to come over to where she stood with Safiya, which he did with another quick smile for Owl.

“Safi said she wanted to say something to you,” Iseult told him with a shrug.

When he turned to Safiya to see what it was she wanted, she was staring directly into his eyes with the hint of a challenge. “I didn’t say something before because we had to rescue Vivia before it was too late,” Safiya began, glancing from Aeduan to Iseult, then back again. “But now she’s safe, so we have the time. When we were all going over the plan, I saw you holding my Threadsister’s hand. Judging from the looks on your faces when it happened, I _doubt_ it was just a friendly gesture.”

Aeduan coughed, his breath catching in his throat with the shock of what she had said. He felt heat rush to his face. Admittedly, he hadn’t been thinking about all the people around them when he did it—all he had thought was that Iseult was frightened and he wanted to comfort her. Now he was glad that Safiya hadn’t been with them for what had happened after Corlant’s death.

Iseult seemed to be similarly embarrassed. Apparently she hadn’t been aware of what Safiya wanted to discuss when she gestured for Aeduan to join them. “Safi! I was upset and scared, and he was just trying to reassure me. That’s all.”

“You forget I’m a _Truthwitch_, Iz,” Safiya said with a laugh. “Besides, believe me when I say that _I_”—and she seemed to glance pointedly across the room at someone else— “can tell the difference. So, Bloodwitch, what exactly is between you and Iseult?”

_Nothing_, he wanted to say, but he couldn’t tell an outright lie to her without the truth becoming obvious. So instead he avoided the question, knowing that she would be able to tell what he was doing but not able to come up with a better option. “What are you talking about?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t blushing as badly as he felt like he must be.

“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about,” Safiya replied impatiently. “Now, I’d trust Iseult with my life—and though I might be convinced you’re on our side, I certainly don’t trust you that much yet. So for your sake, you had better be the saint that Iseult’s convinced you are, or at least someone who tries to be.”

Aeduan was far from a saint, and he knew that Iseult was well aware of it. He had expected her to turn away from those darker parts of him, to hate them as he and so many others had hated them for all of his life. But Iseult didn’t fear the things he kept hidden away, and what was more she understood them. That understanding didn’t make him any better of a person, but it did make him want to be.

He’d rather die than say any of that to Safiya, though, so he forced an awkward nod in the hopes that she would drop the subject.

Thankfully, he was saved from a prolonged interrogation by Arida announcing that she was going to go tell Lev and Zander, who were both upstairs, what had happened before they all made a plan to go forward from here. Leopold nodded, adding, “I’ll go with you. I want to see how she’s recovering.”

Somehow, the conversation immediately began to die down when Arida and Leopold left the room. Stix gestured for everyone’s attention, and as soon as Aeduan and the others turned to see what it was, she and Vivia both stepped forward.

“Arida is working with the Raider King,” Vivia whispered without preamble.

“Are you sure?” Iseult asked, clearly fighting to keep her voice calm and composed after such a bold statement.

“I’m sure of it. I couldn’t say anything on the way back in case she would overhear us, but she isn’t on our side. We have to get away from her—with her Wordwitchery, she could compel us to do anything and we would be forced to do it.”

Aeduan felt the air tighten with that familiar sensation of Vaness readying her magic, although this time her target wasn’t in the same room as them. This time it was less of a threat than it was an expression of her anger, and one that he could only imagine would intensify if Arida were actually here. “I knew it,” the empress muttered. “I _warned_ all of you that she couldn’t be trusted, and that neither could he, and none of you listened.”

“He?” Cam asked.

“Prince Leopold,” Vaness snapped. “Who else?”

“You can’t seriously think that the prince is working with the Raider King,” Caden interrupted. “After all he’s done to help us go against what the raiders want.”

Merik scoffed. “Of course the commander of the Hell-Bard brigade would support the prince of Cartorra.”

“I’ll remind you that I’m not a Hell-Bard anymore. I’m not under anyone’s control—”

“He’s right,” Safiya said. “And because he _used_ to be a Hell-Bard, he knows better than almost anybody what Leopold would and wouldn’t do.”

“So you’d be just as quick to defend the prince?” Merik demanded in a hushed voice, his eyes blazing with anger. “He’s been friends with Arida for years, he said so himself, and she openly told us that she was his spy when we first met her. If that wasn’t a warning sign, I don’t know what is. Not to mention that neither of them have shared more information than exactly what suits them at the given moment, from the very beginning. You didn’t notice any of this, _Truthwitch_?”

Kullen looked down at the floor as if in thought. “I hope it isn’t true, but it does seem to make sense.”

“I’ve known Leopold since we were children, Merik,” Safiya retorted. “I think I would be aware of it if he were plotting with the man who wants me dead.”

“Because Noden only knows you’ve never been wrong about someone before,” Merik said sarcastically.

Iseult opened her mouth, presumably to stand up for her Threadsister, but Vaness spoke over her. “It would be naïve to think that the prince isn’t involved in whatever Arida is planning, given how adamantly he has been defending her every word, and it would be foolish to not be cautious.”

“I know that Leopold isn’t betraying us,” Safiya insisted.

“No, you _hope_ that he isn’t,” Merik shot back. “There’s a difference, and Empress Vaness is right. We need to be cautious, and blind hope won’t do that for us.”

“If—”

“Stop,” Vivia breathed, at first so quietly that Aeduan thought he was the only one that could hear it. Then she repeated herself, louder. “_Stop_. This is serious, and we can’t afford to waste time fighting each other instead of the ones we have to. Instead of arguing, we need to figure out where we’re going to go from here.”

Aeduan agreed with Vivia—he didn’t like Leopold and after learning that Arida was a traitor, he was fairly convinced that the prince was as well. But he did know that no good would come over starting petty quarrels when they could be strategizing.

“Lev’s doing much better,” Leopold announced, and everyone collectively whirled around at the sound of his voice. “She seems to be recovering very well, and—what is it?”

Vaness glanced at Aeduan, her expression conveying everything she couldn’t say. Her tense stance ready for confrontation. Aeduan turned to briefly look at Iseult, who seemed to get the message. They had to do something, and if it came down to violence, Arida and Leopold were greatly outnumbered.

“What’s going on?” Leopold asked, looking from face to face with confusion. “Did something happen?”

Vivia stepped forward, which made sense, as she was the one who had learned this first. Aeduan hoped, though, that she wouldn’t initially accuse the prince. While he was far from fond of Leopold, there was the slightest chance that he truly was on their side, and for Arida there was no chance at all.

“When were you going to tell us?” the Nubrevnan princess demanded, looking Arida directly in the eyes. “When we followed your plan right into a trap? When we got ourselves kidnapped or killed doing what you told us to do?”

Leopold blinked. “What are you talking about?”

Vaness went to stand by Vivia’s side. “She’s talking about how your Wordwitch spy is a traitor working for the Raider King. Don’t try to pretend any longer.”

“What do you mean?” Leopold asked—but Arida said nothing at all. Her eyes were wide as she stared back at Vivia, but she didn’t say a word in defense or denial.

The pause after his question stretched into a lengthy, awkward silence, but still Arida didn’t speak.

“You are not even trying to deny it,” Vaness noted, her voice filled with false calm. Aeduan could sense her blood pumping quicker than normal in her anger, and her eyes didn’t manage the fake placidity.

“I-I don’t understand,” Arida managed, a trace of panic entering her voice. She never stammered, but now she sounded almost desperate. She was good enough of a performer, at least. “How—what’s going on?”

Vaness moved closer and Leopold stepped in front of Arida as if to protect her—a useless gesture when both Arida and Vaness were more powerful than he was. “You know exactly what’s going on. Frankly, I’m surprised you did not hand over Captain Sotar to Corlant when you had the chance. Though no doubt that was your original plan.”

“We can explain,” Leopold said. Instantaneously, iron shot out of Vaness’s bracelets and formed a blade up against the prince’s throat.

“_We_?” the empress demanded as Leopold stood rigid, his eyes looking startled but not terrified. “So you admit that the two of you are working together.”

“Well, of course we’re working together—” he abruptly stopped talking as the blade pressed dangerously close to his neck.

Aeduan didn’t know what would have happened then if no one intervened, but Arida spoke up, her voice filled with Wordwitched charm. “Stop that. Let him go.”

The iron knife dropped to the floor, and before she could order Vaness to do anything else, Aeduan latched onto Arida’s blood. She froze in place, her lips still parted from the unformed words she had been about to speak.

And then it was chaos—Safiya was loudly asking Leopold how much had been a lie, Vaness was shouting at the immobilized Arida for daring to use her witchery on her, and Caden was looking frantically from Leopold to Safiya and Vaness, as though unsure of who he was supposed to be siding with. Over the din, again and again Leopold repeated, “You’re making a mistake.”

“As big a mistake as trusting you in the first place?”

The question came from someone unexpected, and it pierced the overlapping voices as everyone save Arida turned to face Iseult. She stared impassively at Leopold, but Aeduan saw a gleam of anger in her eyes that he didn’t think he had ever seen from her before. “_I trust you_,” Iseult began, and her voice had an unfamiliar edge to it as well. “Isn’t that what you said to me? You told me that you trusted me and you made so many efforts to show me that I could trust you too. So you not only lied to me, but you lied to my Threadsister, who was friends with you when both of you were children. You lied to _all_ of us when you told us repeatedly that you and Arida could be trusted. Apparently you’re capable of lying to anybody, but your Threads aren’t.”

She looked at him critically, presumably examining the aforementioned Threads. “You’re determined, Leopold, and you’re even a little ashamed. But you’re not innocent.”

Aeduan would admit that after she said those words, he waited for Leopold to refute it, to give some kind of explanation to prove that he was actually on their side. Instead he glanced from Iseult to Safiya and then back to Iseult. He mouthed what looked like _I’m sorry_, and then the room went black.

In his shock and confusion, Aeduan lost his control over Arida’s blood. He could hear and sense the panic in the room as everyone tried to determine what had happened while stumbling over each other in the absolute darkness. But Aeduan knew that to some of the people in this room, such a thing was familiar. It had happened at the Truce Summit in Veñaza City, after all, when the Glamourwitch helped Safiya escape from her arranged marriage.

Only this time there was no Glamourwitch. Except…by the Wells, Aeduan was such a fool.

He wasn’t sure how long it was until light was restored to the inn and he could see again—but once it happened and he scanned the area with his senses, Leopold and Arida were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a very fun chapter to write. It's weird but I love to write confrontations...it makes the dialogue so interesting, in my opinion.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debates are had as the others frantically try to figure out what this means for the future, following the shocking revelation of the previous chapter. With heightening tension and no easy way out of a confrontation, there may be even less time than expected to make a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty much Merik getting mad at everyone (Leopold, Arida, Safi, Caden, Vaness, himself) + a bit of plot XD Hope you enjoy!

By the time his vision cleared from the glamour of darkness, Merik was all but shaking with anger, and he knew that even the calmest among them wasn’t far from feeling the same way. How much time had they wasted following Leopold’s and Arida’s plans even when they distrusted the idea or thought it might be detrimental? How many times had they inadvertently played right into a trap?

There was still so much he didn’t understand about their betrayal, but he had no doubt that it _was_ a betrayal. When they had been confronted, not a word of denial was spoken in defense. Instead, they fled. No mouthed apology to Iseult, whatever he had been saying he was sorry for, could fix that.

Forget the number of times they had trusted Leopold and Arida in spite of their better judgment—how many times had they risked their own lives for something that they claimed was worth it? Vivia especially had ended up in more dangerous situations than any of the others because of their schemes, and now it was all for nothing. Nothing except for two less people on their side and the wound to their pride that came from being stupid enough to trust.

A silence fell that somehow managed to last a lifetime and no time at all, and then Safi spoke up. “For years I’ve known Leopold, but _never_ that he was a Glamourwitch.”

Merik didn’t think that this was the biggest issue at the moment, but she was evidently troubled by it. Though he might still be upset at her for what had happened earlier, and her wildly dramatic overreaction to his question, he knew all too well what it felt like to be betrayed.

Or at least, he amended, what it felt like to _think_ you had been betrayed.

“None of us could have known,” Iseult told her reassuringly—which reignited the overlapping conversations in the room, this time a little more desperate as the others began trying to find instances in which they should have realized sooner. Vaness, in particular, seemed especially intent on proving that they had been fools to trust Leopold or Arida from the beginning.

It was difficult to keep track of who was speaking, but as he glanced around the room, Merik could clearly see who wasn’t. Caden fitz Grieg stood with his back against the wall, staying quiet and still as if by not participating in the conversation, he would somehow disappear.

Merik didn’t like Caden, but the realization that dawned on him now had nothing to do with his personal grievance with the Hell-Bard.

“You knew,” Merik accused, and though he didn’t speak loudly, Caden turned to face him as if he had been waiting for someone to say something.

“Yes.” At least he didn’t deny it.

“Knew _what_?” Safi asked, her eyes narrowing. The room went quiet again as everyone waited for an answer.

Caden made as if to raise his hands defensively, then winced in pain and held up his left hand instead. “Just about his Glamourwitchery. I didn’t know he or Arida were working with the Raider King, I promise.”

Merik exhaled sharply, beyond frustrated. At this point he had no idea who was on their side and who wasn’t, and he couldn’t think of any good reason to have hidden the truth about Leopold’s abilities. “And how are we supposed to know that?”

“It’s simple,” Caden replied, reaching for Safi’s hand and gently pulling her closer to him. Merik tensed, his witchery ready at his fingertips to be used, but Caden was just looking directly into Safi’s eyes. “I didn’t know that the prince or Arida were working with the Raider King,” he repeated as she stared back. “Do you believe me?”

“Yes,” she said confidently, then turned to Merik. “He’s telling the truth.”

That had been so easy that Merik felt stupid. He’d forgotten that the Hell-Bards had been freed and were no longer immune to Safi’s Truthwitchery. In his anger and confusion, he had just remembered that as a Hell-Bard, Caden had to have been able to sense that Leopold was a Glamourwitch.

With a smile, Caden let go of her hand and turned to Merik as well. No one else in the room was smiling, and for good reason, so Caden doing it irked him. He seemed to be doing it only because he was glad that Safi trusted him, but it still bothered Merik. What right did he have to be that carefree?

“Then why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Merik demanded. “Any of you?” he added, referring to Lev and Zander.

“He’s our prince,” the Hell-Bard commander answered in a tone that suggested this should have been obvious. “If you had an important secret, wouldn’t you expect your subjects to keep it?”

He didn’t respond, because the answer was—of course—yes. So instead he ignored what Caden had said entirely. “But you could have known he was plotting _something_ and wanted to go along with his plan even if you didn’t know what it was.”

“That’s enough, Prince,” Vaness said heavily. Normally she would have sounded careless or bored, but he could hear genuine exhaustion in her tone this time, either with him or the situation itself. Probably both. “Safi says he is telling the truth.”

“And maybe he is,” Merik snapped, “but this is the man who kidnapped you and kept you as a prisoner. I wouldn’t have expected you to be so defensive of him.”

“He’s proven himself more than you have, Prince—and I hardly think you want to antagonize me.”

“What do you care? We’re on the same side, and we have to work together whether we like it or not.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m on your _sister’s_ side, not yours.”

“With all due respect, Your Imperial Majesty,” Iseult cut in diplomatically, “this might not be the best time to have this conversation. I don’t know where Leopold went, but if he really did leave, and he’s a Glamourwitch…Arida said that the reason why C-Corlant couldn’t see the village was because it was masked by a glamour. I can’t imagine that it would stay that way if Leopold isn’t here anymore.”

The reality of the situation sunk in heavily. Merik’s anger didn’t drain away, but rationality began to take over instead of rage. Iseult was right—there was a lot that could go wrong if they were in the middle of nowhere with no defenses.

“We gotta leave,” Cam said abruptly. He’d been quiet up until now, staying neutral in the middle of the heated arguments, but now his voice rang with urgency. “_Now_. I got a bad feeling about this.”

Instantly, Merik was on edge. He had learned to trust Cam’s instincts, and so many things had been going wrong lately that it seemed counterintuitive to doubt that more things would continue to go awry. “What is it, Cam?”

“Not sure, sir,” he admitted. “I don’t think we’re safe here anymore. Even if my gut feeling’s wrong, which I don’t think it is, sir, Prince Leopold and Arida know where we are now. They could tell anyone.”

“And we’re completely unprotected,” Kullen added. “He has a point.”

“Where do we _go_?” Safi asked, sounding completely defeated. He was still upset at her, yes, but hearing her sound that way took him aback. Safi was intense, she was brave, and she was every kind of bright, but she wasn’t ever defeated.

Except for now.

Then again, logically, he couldn’t blame her. She had gone from trying to save her uncle to knowing that he had been working against her from the beginning—gone from trusting one of her childhood friends to knowing that he, too, was going to betray her in the end. In the back of his mind, Merik knew that he would feel the same way in her place.

And maybe—just _maybe_—she had been justified in shouting at him earlier. _Maybe_ he should have asked her if she was all right instead of jumping to accusations.

“Where do we go?” Safi repeated, now with the same urgency as Cam. “We’re stuck here in the middle of the Orhin Mountains with nothing to guide us except for Caden’s and my worthless senses of direction. On top of that, I’m sure there are patrols, and now that the glamour is down nothing will stop them from finding us. We have nowhere to go and no way to go there.”

“We also don’t have another option,” Vivia reminded her. “Cam’s right. We can’t stay here any longer than we have to at this point.”

Caden nodded, but he didn’t appear to be in complete agreement. “I know that, but what about Lev? She’s recovering well, but she got stabbed in the side. You can’t expect her to travel through mountainous terrain so soon after being injured. It would be so dangerous.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?” Merik demanded. “We don’t have a healer and all Aeduan could do was stop the bleeding, not actually repair the wound. We can’t afford to wait here for an ambush.”

“I suppose we could go back to the Hasstrel estate,” Vivia mused, but she sounded far from enthusiastic about the idea. “It would be risky and we would have to be careful, but we might be able to find out more about what the Raider King really wants.”

Safi blinked at her. “What? _Back_ to the Hasstrel estate?”

“Yes, that was where Corlant was keeping me.”

Safi let out an astonished laugh. “Of course. Of course my uncle was letting Corlant and the raiders use his estate for whatever it is they’re trying to do. Of _course_ I wouldn’t notice that we’ve been this close to my childhood home this entire time.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Caden said, “I didn’t know we were at my father’s estate until we were five minutes away from it. The Orhin Mountains are confusing.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better, but thank you.”

Merik was tempted to say that Caden had missed her entire point, but they didn’t have the time. Cam was tapping his foot against the floor, clearly not wanting to intrude on the conversation but also worried about this instinct that he had. As he saw the anxiety on the boy’s face, Merik felt guilty for having been so petty. He was angry at Leopold, Arida, Safi, Caden…by Noden, he was angry at _himself_ at this point and he wasn’t exactly sure why—but in spite of all of that, Iseult had been right in what she said to Vaness. This wasn’t the time. They had to act now.

He opened his mouth to offer a quick apology and try to come up with a decent strategy to get them out of here as quickly as they could, but then Cam drew in a sharp breath from his position by the window. “It’s too late,” he said, moving aside so Merik and the others could see the people emerging from the forest. They appeared to be armed, and there as far as Merik could tell, they had no reason to be here. No _good_ reason, at least.

“Fools,” Vaness muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been reading this so far!! I'm so glad you're sticking through with it!!


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safi and the others flee the inn as Hell-Bards arrive at the previously glamoured village. Meanwhile, a certain two characters return in need of someone's help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am bad at summaries okay don't judge me 😂 
> 
> Sorry for the late update on this, I've had insane writer's block lately. But thankfully, it's so much better now and I have a lot more ideas!! So chapters should be posted regularly again!

There was no time to wait, no time to stand and think and dwell over everything that had been happening in an almost dizzy sequence of events—and yet here Safi stood, motionless as though waiting even though she knew there was nothing good to wait for. Somehow she, the one who never stopped moving, who had said herself multiple times that she was nothing but restless, was the one frozen in place now amidst the flurry of motion and words around her.

As soon as Cam had seen people coming in this direction from the trees, nearly everyone had begun planning and preparing to leave at once. Aeduan left through the side entrance of the inn in the hopes of scouting and reporting back to the others when he determined who it was who had arrived. Caden ran upstairs to tell Lev and Zander what was happening, muttering something under his breath that was too quiet to hear. Ryber started gathering supplies as quickly as possible, and all the while Merik talked loudly about how foolish they had all been.

Safi was aware of all of this, and yet she didn’t join in the urgency. She felt so _stupid_. How many times would she prove that no matter how hard she tried, she didn’t seem to have any idea what she was doing? She had been friends with Leopold since they were young children, and she had trusted that he was on her side even when some of the others didn’t. How long had he been working against her? Was there any part of him that had ever been sincere?

“Saf,” Iseult urged her, gripping her arm tightly and looking into her eyes. “We have to leave. We don’t know who is out there and we need to get away from here, fast.”

Then the reality of the situation finally set in, and she nodded. “Where are we going to go, Iz? We don’t—”

Aeduan burst through the door, looking upset and even a little confused about something. Before they had a chance to ask what it was, though, he hastily beckoned them towards the door. “Those are Hell-Bards out there,” he said insistently. “If they find Safiya, they’ll bring her back to Praga—and if they find the empress, prince, or princess, then it’s all over. Come on, we need to go.”

Safi rushed forward, Iseult by her side, but stopped by the side door and looked back. Some of the others were behind her waiting to leave, but not all of them. In her confusion, she wasn’t sure whether they had already left or if they were still upstairs, but she wasn’t going to risk leaving anyone behind. She began to go back, but Aeduan crossed in front of her to block her path. “No, go now. I’ll make sure everyone else follows.”

He pushed her back, in the direction of the forest outside, but she had her own reasons for not wanting to leave. She knew she _had_ to, of course, but being so close to so many Hell-Bards went against everything she had always done and practiced. Aeduan was right—so much could go wrong if they were to find out who she was or sense her Truthwitchery.

But if she went outside, there was at least a chance of getting away. There was no chance at all if she stayed in the inn and waited to get caught.

So Safi turned and met her Threadsister’s steady gaze, and then they ran together.

She trusted that Aeduan and the others would follow, knowing that she didn’t have much choice but to keep going and not look back. She hoped that the Hell-Bards wouldn’t notice them escaping from the side door to the inn. If they _did_ notice somehow, she knew that she and Iseult wouldn’t make it far before they were caught.

Footsteps behind her made Safi whirl around in panic, but it was just the others from the inn following after them. Most had their weapons out in case they were ambushed, and a quick count reassured Safi that all of them had managed to escape the inn. Even Lev was on her feet, moving slower than normal and leaning on Caden for support, but looking relatively steady for someone who had been stabbed not too long ago.

A shout came from behind them and then, her heart racing, Safi realized that they had been spotted. The Hell-Bards began pursuing them, and while they were still too far away for recognition to be a concern, she wasn’t very well about to stand around and wait for that to happen. Without another word, she and the others turned and sprinted through the forest, not exactly sure where they were going as long as they were away from the Hell-Bards.

Finally, Aeduan stopped them. “They aren’t coming this way anymore,” he said, his eyes glowing with the familiar red that came with using his Bloodwitchery. “I am not sure why, but they aren’t chasing us. In fact, they are going the opposite way.”

“Good,” Safi muttered, knowing full well that there had to be a reason for them doing this but not registering what the reason could be at the moment. All she knew was that they were no longer in imminent danger, and that they no longer needed to run at maximum speed for the sake of their lives. She wasn’t sure how much longer some of them could have gone on—while the distance hadn’t been very far, Lev had gone ghostly pale and Kullen was doubled over trying to catch his breath.

“This isn’t over yet,” Vaness warned, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “They can’t be gone for good. Either they will be coming back, or there is a very good reason why they’re staying away.”

“Maybe the prince…is still here,” Kullen gasped, his hands on his knees as he struggled to breathe. “And…he told them…to leave.”

Merik and Ryber rushed over to Kullen, murmuring at him to stop trying to talk. “Stay calm,” Merik said, his voice firm and reassuring. “You’ll be all right. Just stay calm, Kullen.”

A frightening moment passed by, and then he slowly straightened again. His breaths sounded shallow and shaky, but he wasn’t gasping for air anymore and he seemed steady on his feet. “I-I’m fine. Thank you, Merik and Ry.” He hugged Ryber, leaning into her a little, and Safi wasn’t sure if it was out of physical weakness or affection. She could, however, see that it was genuine, which brought a smile to her face even in the midst of the chaos and alarm.

“The empress has a point,” Aeduan said, his tone businesslike in spite of what had nearly just happened to Kullen and the fact that Lev was only still standing because Caden was awkwardly holding her up. “Prince Leopold might still be in the area, and if he is, he might have ordered the Hell-Bards to retreat. I can’t imagine why he would do that, but there isn’t another explanation.”

“Unless your Bloodwitchery is wrong somehow?” Stix suggested. “I’m not saying it’s likely, but is that possible?”

It didn’t look like Aeduan much appreciated that, but to his credit, he took the diplomatic route. “Possible, I suppose, but unlikely. Iseult? Can you sense their Threads still, or are they gone?”

Silence. Safi hastily glanced around their area in the forest, but her Threadsister wasn’t there.

“Iz?” she called, her heart pounding in her chest. Then again, louder: “Iseult!” It wasn’t wise to shout in the middle of the forest when there could be anybody listening, but at the moment Safi didn’t care. Iseult had been there, had been _right there_, and now she wasn’t.

“Don’t worry,” Ryber said, much quieter. “I’m sure she’s here. She can’t be that far away.”

Safi ignored Ryber and kept yelling her Threadsister’s name, knowing that no matter how far away Iseult had ended up, she _had_ to be able to hear this. She was somewhat consoled by the fact that Aeduan was just as frantic, pushing past bushes, branches, and people in his search to find Iseult. Finally, they turned to each other.

His eyes were wide with a fear that, she was sure, matched her own.

Iseult had no idea how she had managed to get so lost in such a short period of time, especially when she thought she had stayed by Safi’s side the whole time. All she knew was that at one point, she had turned to face her Threadsister and found no one there.

Her instincts told her that she couldn’t have gone far, so she tried to remain calm while searching the vicinity for Safi. Panicking wasn’t like her, and it certainly wouldn’t help her find her Threadsister. Still, Iseult was feeling far from calm when she realized that they had, in fact, been separated somehow—and that neither Safi nor anyone else was nearby.

Ordinarily she would call out in the hopes of getting a reply, but she knew that would be foolish when there could be Hell-Bards within hearing distance. So she stayed silent as she doubled her efforts to find the others, knowing with a sickening certainty that she wouldn’t find them.

It wasn’t out of self-doubt that she thought this—no, it was out of the absence of Threads. The emptiness sweeping across her vision as she saw the dulled earth tones of the Orhin Mountains but none of human life.

Except…Iseult saw a flicker of color out of the corner of her eye—green shades of focus, and a hint of rusty guilt. The Threads she saw only belonged to one person, though. Not the large group of people who had been at the inn.

And their Threads were very bright, unusually so.

She was about to follow the person to find out who they were, in spite of the growing suspicion in her subconscious, when their Threads disappeared from her peripheral vision. Either they had somehow vanished like everyone else she had left behind, or they were….

Right behind her.

Iseult froze in place, not sure whether she should immediately turn around or go on and let the person think that she hadn’t seen them. Then the decision was taken from her as she suddenly felt a light pressure at the back of her neck, and she whirled around—but not before the cord was yanked from around her neck, and the silver taler taken with it.

She should have put the pieces together sooner, but her worry over having been separated from the others had made her foolish, so it seemed. Leopold stood behind her, the cord wrapped around his fingers and a frustratingly charming smile on his face that his Threads betrayed as fake. He danced back a step so the taler was not within easy reach, and she suddenly realized what he had done. Even if she were to run away right now, she wouldn’t be able to find the others. They would rely on Aeduan’s Bloodwitchery to track the coin, which would lead them directly to Leopold. And, presumably, Arida.

Iseult tensed. Her initial reaction was to reach for a weapon, but she didn't have any. She’d left the knife behind with Corlant’s body and nobody had had the time to get supplies from the inn before they left. So she stared directly at the prince and hoped with everything she had that Arida wouldn’t follow. She had her witchery if it came to that, but she didn’t want it to.

“Iseult,” Leopold said lightly, and his smile didn’t falter even after seeing that it was clearly not going to be returned. “I didn’t think you were the sort to get lost.”

“If you don’t break the glamour and give me the coin right now, you’ll wish that you were.” She was now sure that it hadn’t been her fault that she was separated from Safi and the others, and that he was keeping them hidden intentionally.

He leaned against a tree with practiced nonchalance, folding his arms casually. The silver coin dangled from his fist. It would be so easy to leap forward and grab it—_too_ easy. Leopold was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. “A bold threat, but you aren’t armed.”

“I don’t need to be,” Iseult assured him, her voice even and cold.

Leopold waved this off. “Besides, I don’t think you’ll find that I’m much of a threat. I just need your help, Iseult.”

She blinked. “My help,” she repeated. “After you betrayed us and ran away?”

“I wanted to stay and explain,” he said quickly, the smile fading from his face and being replaced by steely determination. “But Empress Vaness seemed more than eager to kill me—she tried, if you remember—and you’ll forgive me if an explanation wasn’t quite worth my life. After Aeduan almost killed Arida, I knew it wasn’t safe for us to stay around. And while we’re on the topic, I do think you should have let us stay and explain ourselves. We’ve helped you all for so long and after a few words from the Nubrevnan princess, you forgot about it.”

“Those ‘few words’ were supported by more truth than you’ve ever told me.” Iseult sighed. “Tell me, right now, that you are not working with the Raider King and you never have been. As I said before, your Threads cannot lie to me.”

Leopold’s expression was unusually grim and serious as he slipped the coin into his pocket. “And I won’t do you the insult of lying. The past is the past, and _now_ is what matters. _Now_ is when we need your help.”

“It’s _we_ again?” she asked. “Just tell me where she is so you don’t have to pretend like you’re the only person here.”

Arida stepped out from behind one of the trees, giving Iseult a friendly little wave that made her even more upset. There was no way that she had just been hiding in the trees the entire time, or else Iseult would have seen her Threads. She had to have been glamoured too.

“Everything that we’re doing, we are doing for a reason,” Leopold assured Iseult in a way that was far from reassuring. “You don’t understand what we’re trying to accomplish here, or what we’ve had to do to get this far. But I would much rather you willingly help us.”

“You’d rather that than what?” She knew what the other option was, but she wanted to hear him say it.

Leopold raised his eyebrows, his Threads flickering with a hint of gold before turning back to a determined green. “Than have Arida compel you to come with us. It wouldn’t be my first choice, and you know that.”

_I don’t know that. It seems like I never knew a thing about you._ “I could cleave you where you stand,” Iseult warned Arida, who didn’t seem the least bit fazed by her threat.

“You could try,” the Wordwitch mused, coming closer to stand by Leopold as she tilted her head to get a better look at Iseult. “But it would be better for all of us if you made the choice, because frankly, I don’t think you would be fast enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this, this fic is so much fun to write and I'm so thankful for all the people who are reading it!!


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hostage situation, two difficult choices, and more than a little Wordwitchery create a truly involved plan that Iseult still does not understand, and certainly has not yet determined her part of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically could be a continuation of the last chapter, but it's a separate chapter because that's the way I wrote it lol.

Iseult fought to remain calm. She knew it would be easier to find a way out of this if she wasn’t panicking, but something about Arida’s threat sent chills down her spine. She was capable of defending herself against countless different kinds of attacks and ambushes, but being forced to do something? Having no control over her own actions? Despite her attempts to think of what Gretchya had taught her, to imitate the composure she had been taught, the idea terrified her.

“Wh-what is it that you want?” she asked, cursing herself for letting the stutter slip past her tongue. She wanted to sound self-assured, dignified, but her voice was betraying herself.

“Not yet,” Leopold said, and he did a very good job of making his voice _sound_ apologetic. His Threads, though, no longer had any trace of guilt in them—just focus and cold confidence. “I promise we’ll explain later, as soon as we get to where we’ll be going. I’m sure you can understand. We can’t risk you knowing what our plans are, just in case something were to go wrong.”

Iseult paused before answering, hoping to get her stammer under control. “Are you that unsure about your strategy, whatever it is?”

“Oh, Iseult,” he murmured, shaking his head a little as though disappointed in her. “Perhaps I merely meant that I have great faith in you and your ability to get away from something you don’t want to do.”

“Are you implying that this is something I should be trying to get away from?” She already knew the answer.

Arida laughed, but it was a forced and high-pitched sound. She sounded almost frightened, which made no sense, unless she didn’t know how to answer the question or she really _was_ worried about how this plan would go. Either way, it didn’t bode well for Iseult. Finally, she just said, “We all wish we could get away.” Her lips twisted into a grim smile. “And unfortunately, you can’t. Now, before we leave, I need one thing. Give me your Threadstone.”

Her hand shot up to her neck instinctively. “No. It’s worthless to you.” But not to Iseult. It was Iseult’s only way of communicating with Safi, the only way she could ensure that her Threadsister was safe, and both of them knew it.

“To us, perhaps,” Leopold replied, holding out his palm expectantly. “But it isn’t hard to guess what you would try to do with it. Now, please.”

Iseult didn’t give it to him, nor did she think that he really expected her to. The polite way in which he phrased it made her no more likely to betray her Threadsister by willingly giving up the only thing that still connected them. What happened next should not have come as a shock, but somehow did—and somehow made her feel even worse than she did knowing that she wouldn’t be able to find the others on her own.

“Hand me the Threadstone,” Arida ordered, and Iseult could feel the Wordwitchery washing over her. Her mind was still her own, but her body wasn’t, and she felt herself slip the Threadstone over her neck and give it to Arida. _Stop. Don’t do this. Don’t give this to her. _But she couldn’t stop, and the Wordwitch nodded in satisfaction as she pocketed the stone.

Leopold came closer to Iseult as she regained control again—too late to make a difference or take back her remaining link to Safi. “You’re the first person we had to convince for this,” the prince told her, tipping his head to the side as though considering something. “But simple as it might have been, not the only person. We can go back to the others to get him, but we’ll need to take precautions. Arida?”

_Precautions?_ As soon as he mentioned returning to the others, Iseult had begun planning how she would get away—surely she would be able to do so, with so many other people there—but he had clearly planned for that.

Arida gestured for Leopold to move aside, which he did with an apologetic look at Iseult. From when he had mouthed _I’m sorry_ in the inn to the look on his face right now, he seemed to at least partially regret the things he did, or at least he wanted her to think so. But Iseult didn’t want apologies, especially not empty ones.

“You’ll come with us back to everyone else once Leopold breaks the glamour,” Arida said to Iseult, looking directly into her eyes with her own startlingly blue ones. Her voice was quiet, but so strong, so impossible to fight against. It made Iseult helpless. “You won’t try to run, cleave us, or attack us in any way. Leopold will escort you over to the others with his hand on your arm so they know you’re with us, and you won’t struggle against it or pull away. You will not speak unless you are reassuring the others that you’re safe and unharmed, or if you are agreeing with something that Leopold or I say. Once we get Caden on our side, hopefully of his own free will, Leopold will create another glamour to disguise us as we leave—and you won’t warn anyone of this, or indicate where we might be going. Understood?”

She felt herself nod, even though she didn’t understand at all. Assisting them in any way was the last thing that she wanted, and despite the fact that she couldn’t help but obey when Arida used her powers, she felt guilty for not being able to fight back. What was more, she couldn’t comprehend why they would want _Caden_. It would make sense if they wanted Safi, or Vaness, or even the Paladins. Perhaps _especially_ the Paladins, after learning of the Raider King’s interest in them. But the commander of the Hell-Bard brigade? There had to be a reason, but Iseult couldn’t see it.

And somehow it was even worse to know that they would be going back to where the others were, with potentially no chance to get away in spite of it. She had no idea how everyone else would react to seeing her like this.

Leopold stepped forward and gripped Iseult’s forearm—not as tightly as she would have expected if the purpose was to make sure she didn’t get away, but tight enough to make a statement. Tight enough to wordlessly tell the others that Iseult wouldn’t be going anywhere.

Though every part of her wanted to fight against it, her legs moved against her will to go with Leopold as the trees seemed to shift and move around them. _He must be dissolving the glamour_, she thought; and once the forest surrounding them stopped moving, she was aware of Threads.

Very familiar Threads, in fact.

“Iseult!” Safi called, her voice frantic as she repeated her Threadsister’s name. Iseult tried to reply, but it was as though her mouth were glued shut. She hated to hear Safi sound this scared, especially when she was unable to tell her that she was all right.

Then, another voice: Aeduan’s, calling her name as well. He sounded closer, but as always, she couldn’t see his Threads to make sure of it.

Leopold’s grip on her arm tightened as if he worried, somehow, that she would be able to break away. She didn’t know why he bothered. She was still frozen in place by Arida’s Wordwitched commands, and he had to know that.

Then Aeduan came into view, and he stopped in his tracks as soon as he saw who she was with. His eyes flicked from Iseult to Leopold, standing beside her, and then to Arida, hovering nearby. “Safiya!” he yelled, not looking away from Iseult. “Here!” Then, his voice lowering, he took a step forward, his eyes beginning to glow red. “Step away from her right now.”

“I don’t think so,” Leopold said calmly, unbuckling the dagger from his belt with one hand and tossing it to Arida. The Wordwitch, surprisingly, caught its hilt easily and pressed the blade to Iseult’s throat.

“It’s nothing personal,” Leopold murmured, too quietly for Aeduan to hear. Iseult had no idea what he hoped to accomplish by saying that. Whether this was personal or not, he couldn’t possibly expect her to forgive him or act like this didn’t matter.

She knew that the dagger against her throat wasn’t a way of getting her to stay in place but rather a way of getting Aeduan to refrain from attacking. She was still incapable of moving away, still motionless even as she felt the cold metal on her skin. Escape would normally be so easy, but now it was utterly impossible.

Iseult could see the indecision in Aeduan’s face, as he seemed to weigh the possibilities before him. He could try to use his Bloodwitchery to incapacitate Leopold and Arida, but he would be bargaining on the fact that Arida wouldn’t be able to lash out with her Wordwitchery—or worse, the dagger—before he stopped her heart. She watched him struggle with the choice behind his eyes, the red mingling with the blue as he met her gaze, his face tight with worry.

There was no way he would be able to see it from where he was standing, and Iseult was almost inclined to believe that she was imagining things. But it was impossible to mistake it when a blade was being held so close to her.

Arida’s hand was shaking.

And then Safi burst through the trees, breathing heavily as she took in the scene before her: her Threadsister with a knife to her throat, being held in place by Leopold and the weight of a Wordwitch’s voice. “Iz!” she gasped, taking a faltering step forward and then stopping abruptly. “What do you want with her?” she demanded of Leopold and Arida.

“Calm down, Safiya,” Leopold said gently. “We just need her help, and if you and Aeduan let her come with us quietly, no one will get hurt. Iseult is perfectly safe.”

“Aren’t you?” Arida asked Iseult.

“Yes,” she answered, her mouth moving without the intent to do so. She would have said it anyway, to reassure her Threadsister that she was uninjured, but the knowledge that she _couldn’t_ have remained quiet even if she wanted to was humiliating. Then again, she had bigger problems than embarrassment at this point.

Safi looked at Aeduan desperately, telling him wordlessly to use his witchery to help Iseult escape. Her glance didn’t escape Arida, who pulled Iseult a bit closer to herself and held the dagger more tightly. “Your Bloodwitchery isn’t as fast as a slip of my hand,” she warned. This time her grip was steady and didn’t tremble. “I don’t think you would like to risk it.”

Aeduan and Safi were both looking at Iseult, fear written on every inch of their faces, and she tried to give them some sign that it would be all right. Something, _anything_ to reassure them that she would be safe, even if she might not be. No matter how hard she tried to break Arida’s control over her, her face remained emotionless.

She wasn’t on the inside, though. On the inside, she thought she might be breaking. She still had no idea what they wanted with her, but the horrified look on her Threadsister’s face when she saw Iseult in this position was enough to make her feel so guilty for being unable to speak. As for Aeduan, she had never seen him look so afraid as when he met her eyes while trying to grapple with the decision of whether or not to risk using his Bloodwitchery.

“Now, both of you,” Leopold said, “lead us back to where the others are without attacking us. If you—”

“What is it that you want from us?” Safi asked, clearly fighting to keep her voice calm. Iseult knew the way her Threadsister sounded when she was genuinely in control of her emotions, and this was not it. “What are you trying to do?”

“That doesn’t concern you,” Arida replied. “And we _just_ gave you a chance to obey of your own free will. Now”—the tone of her voice changed, and it thickened with the heavy charm of her Wordwitchery— “bring us to the others safely and without a fight. Aeduan, you will not use your Bloodwitchery in any way. Neither of you will do anything but take us to our destination unless I or Leopold tell you to do it.”

Safi’s eyes glazed over and she turned wordlessly, leading the way back to where Iseult assumed everyone else was waiting. Leopold reached up and took the dagger from Arida’s hand, keeping it in place as Arida walked beside Safi and Aeduan to make sure that her witchery was working. It fell on the prince, then, to guide Iseult forward while keeping the blade pressed against her throat. His movements were awkward and uncoordinated, as though he were unused to doing this.

When they returned to the others, Iseult wanted more than ever to be free from the Wordwitch’s control, though it wasn’t because of her Threadsister or her captors. No, it was because of a little girl—a little girl she had once hated and had greatly misunderstood.

Owl ran forward from where she had been standing beside Ryber, looking up at Aeduan as though expecting him to say something. But he betrayed no reaction, his pale blue eyes glassy and blank. That emptiness broke Iseult’s heart in a thousand ways while managing to harden it against Leopold and Arida. This was _their _fault, _their_ doing—not Iseult’s, and while she might regret being unable to say anything to those she cared about, she was not the one to blame for it.

She wasn’t sure how, but she would make them pay.

Owl tilted her head, looking perplexed by why Aeduan wasn’t responding. But Ryber, who clearly saw what was happening, went up to the girl and placed her hands on Owl’s shoulders gently. “Come here,” she murmured. “It’ll be all right, Dirdra, just come here with me.” Somehow, miraculously, she managed to get Owl to walk back to where she had been before—though the girl was frowning and her eyes shone with confused tears.

“If any of you with more powerful magics are thinking of fighting back,” Leopold began, speaking loudly as though giving an important speech, “I’ll remind you of the situation at hand. Safiya and Aeduan are under Arida’s control, and so is Iseult—though as you can see here, we don’t need Arida’s abilities to influence her now. All we need is for Caden to join us, and neither of us would like for it to have to come down to compulsion.”

Caden blinked, looking just as confused as Iseult felt. There was, as she had noted, no noticeable reason for Leopold or Arida to need the commander of the brigade for whatever it was they were trying to accomplish.

_But maybe_, Iseult thought, _there is something about him that we don’t know. After all, he knew that Leopold was a Glamourwitch before anyone else found out. Maybe he knows something that the prince can’t afford to let anyone else discover._

Whichever was the case, it didn’t matter. Caden glanced from Leopold to Safiya to Iseult, then over at Lev and Zander beside him. Lev was leaning against a tree, her face deathly white, and Zander was trying to take care of her while simultaneously paying attention to what was going on in front of them. Still, a decision seemed to be made by Caden, and he turned back to Leopold, his jaw set. “If I come with you, you won’t hurt any of the others,” he said, as if to make sure even though there was little he could do to stop it.

Arida nodded, even though she wasn’t the one he had been talking to. “Everyone else will be completely safe.”

He nodded once and then stepped forward. He walked stiffly, making it clear that he did not want to do this, but it was an action free of Arida’s Wordwitchery. As soon as he reached Leopold and Iseult, Arida gently pushed Safi and Aeduan forward before the trees began to shift and spin again.

Leopold was creating another glamour immediately upon getting Caden on their side, which gave them no time to fight back. Once the world around them stopped moving once more, Safi and Aeduan were gone, as were the rest of their friends and allies.

_What are we going to do now?_

“You’re better than this, Your Highness,” Caden said sharply. The tone of his voice made it seem like he knew what Leopold was planning, and greatly disapproved.

“We all do things we never thought we would do,” Leopold replied in a way that did nothing to clarify his intentions or even to betray what he was feeling.

As they continued walking, Iseult could only think of how many betrayals Leopold had subjected them all to—and how no matter what it took, she would make him pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While writing this, I forgot: 
> 
> a) that Owl existed (but to be fair, only for a little bit) 
> 
> and 
> 
> (b) that Owl had a name that is not Owl


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hm, what can I say? A lot of things are happening. Safi and Aeduan are losing their minds a little, Lev is being stubborn, two characters have a brief and unexpected moment of understanding, and Vivia comes to a difficult decision as they all split up into three groups going in different directions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note to any other writers out there: If you injure a character while writing a story, be more prepared than I was for the consequences of that injury! You then have to make sure that the injury is consistent and fits within the plot to a reasonable extent, which (lol) I guess I should've planned out a bit better!

Vivia was barely sure how it had happened, but in what felt like no time at all, there were two less among them and a sense of utter confusion that permeated through everyone who was left. In spite of the fact that the glamour made it impossible for them to find where the others had gone, Safi and Aeduan were looking desperate enough to try searching again anyway. She was sure that the only reason they weren’t doing it was that some part of them was still logical enough to know it would do no good. The other Hell-Bards probably would have joined them in doing it if Lev didn’t look like she was about to pass out at any moment, and if Zander wasn’t now the only thing helping her stand.

“We need to do something,” Ryber said, somehow managing to keep her voice calm. It was more than what anyone else would be able to do, considering the circumstances. “We can’t just stay here worrying about what happened.”

“Then what do you suggest we do?” Merik demanded. At first it sounded argumentative, but the longer the silence that came after it, the more Vivia was convinced that it wasn’t. He was just as lost as the rest of them, without the faintest idea of where they could go from here that wasn’t a trap. Or, she thought bitterly, abandoning Iseult and Caden, wherever they might be.

“I…don’t know,” Ryber admitted.

Vaness sighed loudly, and Vivia wasn’t sure if it was a sigh of exasperation or exhaustion. Maybe both. _Probably_ both. “The rest of you can do what you like, but I need to get back to my country. I have already stayed in Cartorra for too long, and Marstok must be falling apart.”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, is that safe?” Ryber asked. “I know you’re very loyal to your people, but…your own general tried to have you killed. Marstok might not be a welcoming place for you anymore.”

“All the more reason for me to return,” the empress insisted. “I need to show my people that I am strong, that I can still lead them as I did before. If I’m not there for them now, I might never have a chance to go back to where I used to be.”

Vivia had no idea what she could suggest that would be both practical and well-received, so she diverted her attention to the ones who were, rather than focusing on a strategy for the future, were beside themselves with worry for Iseult. Aeduan and Safi were speaking quickly in low voices to each other, Aeduan pointing vaguely into the woods while Safi grasped her Threadstone, gesturing heatedly with her other hand. After a moment, they seemed to both arrive at the same conclusion, and turned to the others.

“Iz is that way,” Safi announced, pointing in the opposite direction that Aeduan had. “Or at least, her Threadstone is—but Aeduan says that he can sense her _that_ way. Even if it’s an illusion, we have to check both ways. We have to find her.”

Stix nodded. “I’ll come with you,” she told the Truthwitch. “For protection in case you get into danger.”

“And I will go with the Bloodwitch,” Vaness said. She didn’t sound pleased to offer it, given her insistence on the point of immediately leaving Cartorra, but she clearly saw the wisdom in utilizing her Ironwitchery in the event of a confrontation. Aeduan didn’t even acknowledge her, pushing past Kullen and leaving the clearing entirely, presumably in the direction that he intended to take to search for Iseult.

Vivia wanted to protest that Stix didn’t have to be the one to accompany Safi, but she bit back her words before she spoke them aloud. Yes, she wanted Stix to stay safe—but she was a powerful Waterwitch and more than capable of defending herself. Convincing her to stay behind might do more harm than good. “Stay safe,” she said instead, forcing a smile even though worry pulsed through her veins with every heartbeat.

“Always,” Stix replied lightly, and before Safi could reprimand her for lingering, she leaned forward and kissed Vivia on the cheek. It was nothing more than what she had done that day in the under-city, but somehow it was just as surprising. This time there had been no hesitation, no moment of indecision where she could see Stix wrestling with the decision of what to do. There had been no thought between her answer and the kiss, which made it seem even more heartfelt and genuine.

She tried to summon some kind of response, but Safi gestured for Stix to follow her in the direction her Threadstone was apparently indicating. “Either come with me now or I’m going without you. There’s time for that after, but my Threadsister has been kidnapped and we need to find her.”

Stix nodded once more, making brief eye contact with Vivia and then leaving with Safi as she had promised. Within moments, they were out of Vivia’s range of sight, lost among the thick shrubbery and pines. _They’ll be fine_, she told herself. _They might not run into any danger at all._

It wasn’t likely, of course, that they would find Iseult without Leopold and Arida there as well, but she could hope. Hope was the only thing she had right now.

“We still need to come up with a plan,” Ryber reminded the rest, and Vivia began to suspect that her outer placidity was what helped keep her sane through all of this. There was no way that Ryber could really be as calm as she acted all the time, but she did know that the Sightwitch was what held the rest of them together when things started to go wrong. If she herself were to fall apart, she couldn’t imagine what might happen to everyone else around her.

“We need a healer,” Zander said, gently picking up Lev so that he was carrying her. She mumbled something in quiet protest, but her eyes were closed as if she was dizzy, and didn’t try to get back down to her feet. “What Aeduan did before might have helped, and she’ll recover more over time, but we don’t have enough time for that to happen at the moment. She certainly can’t go running off to Marstok like this.”

“Well…I’m sure there are good healers in Praga.” Cam sounded hesitant, like he expected everyone to immediately disapprove of the idea. When they didn’t, he kept going with a bit more confidence this time. “That’s the closest, and maybe you could convince the emperor you had nothing to do with what happened before. Not sure if it’d work, but you could always say you were following orders and thought that Henrick wanted it.”

Zander shook his head. “There’s no way he would believe it after we helped his prisoners escape from his own dungeons. Besides, if he did think we were still loyal to him, he might try to send us to do something else—or worse, to finish what he wanted us to start with Empress Vaness. We can’t leave Caden behind.”

“Then what _do_ you want to do?” Merik asked. This time, Vivia could definitely tell it was meant in an argumentative way. “There aren’t any healers waiting here in the woods, and we have no idea where Leopold and Arida took them. We have no chance of tracking them at all if Aeduan and Safi don’t find them right now.”

“I don’t like to think of it as hopeless,” Ryber corrected in a last attempt to remain optimistic. “I could see a little desperation in their faces, maybe enough to make them sloppy. We could definitely find them, and I’m sure that we will.”

“We—” Zander’s words were cut short by Aeduan and Vaness returning to the clearing, with a notable absence of Iseult and Caden beside them. The empress was as stoic as ever, although Vivia could detect a tightness about her eyes that betrayed her frustration. Aeduan, meanwhile, was taking no troubles to hide his as he tossed something to the ground, his jaw set in anger.

Vivia didn’t want to ask for details about what had happened while he was clearly so upset, so she stepped forward to pick up whatever it was he had dropped. It was a silver taler tied on a broken cord, the metal of the coin dulled by what looked like dried blood. _Is this what he was using to track her, or is this something he found that she left behind?_ “Is this…hers?” she asked tentatively.

“Yes.” One syllable, cold, clipped. She supposed she should be grateful to have gotten an answer at all, even if it was an unhelpful one.

“We did not find them,” Vaness added, which had already been made obvious. “His senses led him to the taler, which was left lying on the ground with no one there.”

Vivia was grateful to the empress for elaborating, since Aeduan seemed utterly unwilling to do so, even if she was still confused by the coin’s significance. That didn’t matter at the moment, though. Their friends were still kidnapped, and it was becoming rapidly clear that the people who remained had paths that led them to very different places.

“Gone?” Owl asked, her hazel eyes wide and scared. She looked at Aeduan for an answer, biting her lip anxiously.

“She’ll be back, Owl,” the Bloodwitch said, forcing a look of softness to his face to comfort the girl. He knelt down in front of her and looked into Owl’s eyes. Even his voice was less harsh than it had been for that one word he had said to Vivia. “I promise she will be back safely. I’ll make sure of it.”

Owl nodded once, but didn’t break eye contact with him.

“In order for us to find her quicker, we all need to work together.” Aeduan spoke gently, kindly, in a sharp contrast to his mannerisms just a moment ago. “We’ll be coming up with a plan now, and it’s very important for us to all do our part to get Iseult back. Understood?”

Another nod, this one firmer.

“Now, I need to leave for just a few minutes, but I promise I’ll come back,” he continued quietly. “I’ll come back immediately. Once I return, we’ll all work out a way to find Iseult. All right, Owl?”

“All right,” the girl whispered—and after giving her a brief smile, Aeduan rose to his feet and stalked into the forest without another word. Vivia glanced at Merik, then at Ryber, and then followed him. She doubted that he wanted it, but she also had no idea what he was planning to do and didn’t want anyone to be doing something reckless. They barely knew each other, so he might be more willing to listen to reason from her.

Vivia knew that he could tell she was following him. He could smell her blood-scent, after all, and he had to have expected that the others wouldn’t let him just storm off without saying anything. She didn’t know how to approach him without saying something that would just make the situation worse, though. She knew firsthand how it felt to have someone you cared about go missing, but at least when it had happened to Stix, there was the possibility that she had left of her own free will. They _knew_ that Iseult had been kidnapped. What was more, she had been kidnapped by two people who had already betrayed them once and had intentions that no one else seemed to understand.

“I know it can’t be easy,” she began awkwardly. Aeduan didn’t turn around. “But the longer we wait, the longer she stays with Leopold and Arida. We need to do something.”

The Bloodwitch spun on his heel, his eyes fierce and angry, so unlike the way he had looked at Owl. “What exactly can we do, Princess?” She was sure that he only used her title so as to be formal without calling her “Your Highness,” as he always did, but hearing someone call her anything but her name made her skin crawl after all the times Corlant had referred to her as just the princess. It seemed to reduce her to _what_ she was rather than _who_ she was, which was exactly what she had been fighting so hard to avoid. “Tell me what it is that we can do against a Wordwitch who can have all of us obeying her with just a word.”

“I know that we can’t do anything if we stand here waiting,” Vivia said, handing him back the taler. He closed his eyes briefly, then took it from her and put it in his pocket. “And Arida might be powerful, but she’s just one person. We can defeat her. We have to.”

“Arida is not the problem,” Aeduan snapped. “She’s what stands in the way of getting Iseult free of the real problem, my father. He has already tried to kill her once, Princess. If they bring her to him, there will be nothing to stop him from trying again, and this time he would make sure he got it right.”

Vivia stepped forward, knowing that she had to convince him to go back somehow. “Stop this,” she replied sharply, at great risk of allowing herself to be the target of his frustrations. “Yes, your father will probably try to kill Iseult if he manages to get her, so we need to get her back first. Even if it’s difficult, and even if we have to take risks to do it.”

“Of course we do.” His voice was distant again, as if he were channeling all of his emotions into cold calculation. “But the situation is much more serious than it would be wise to tell Owl, and you cannot expect me to tell her everything that could possibly happen.”

“I’m not talking about the way you were talking to Owl.” _In fact, I liked to see the way you talked to Owl. It gave me a feeling I can’t describe, something a little like envy for the kind of tenderness I never got and a little like gratitude that the girl has someone to be there for her._ But she wasn’t going to say any of that to Aeduan. “I’m talking about the way you just left. Believe me, I know the feeling of wanting to walk away from something. But you can’t.”

He blinked, the glare dissipating beneath what looked like confusion. Then he nodded slightly, as if finally understanding what Vivia was saying. “I was not walking away,” he corrected. “I told Owl I was going to return within minutes and I meant it. She….”

Aeduan trailed off, but she thought she knew what he was going to say. He hadn’t left so he could avoid the situation; he had left so that Owl couldn’t watch him fall apart and see how bad this really was. Something about that made Vivia feel like she had been incredibly unfair to him, as she realized that his sole reason for leaving so suddenly had been to make sure that she didn’t get too upset or frightened for Iseult’s sake—or his own.

“I’m sorry,” she said hurriedly, feeling guilty for suggesting that he wouldn’t try to save Iseult with every breath he took. “I shouldn’t…we should go back.”

He didn’t acknowledge her apology, just exhaled sharply. “She knows what happened, and knows there is danger, but do not tell her about any of _this_.” She took _this_ to mean their conversation here, the things and feelings he kept hidden. “She has enough to worry herself with.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Vivia promised. She knew what it was like to break down. “Now, if we go back to the others, Safi and Stix might be back by now.”

“They might. And—thank you, Princess.” His tone was begrudging, but it was gratitude nonetheless, and it was more than she had anticipated.

Vivia nodded, but try as she might, she couldn’t let that final word go. “We’re allies now, and we can’t afford to be anything else at this point. Call me by my name.”

“Vivia.” He didn’t repeat the thank-you again, but she hadn’t expected him to. “Let’s go.”

When they returned to the clearing where the others waited, she saw that Safi and Stix had, in fact, come back as well. Stix smiled at Vivia to reassure her that she was safe and unharmed, but Safi didn’t say a word or acknowledge anyone else there. She was holding Iseult’s Threadstone, and though she didn’t throw it on the ground like Aeduan had done with the coin, she was gripping it so tightly that her knuckles were white. She stared at it like if she glared hard enough, she would be able to bring Iseult back through sheer force of will.

“We’ll find her,” Merik said in what seemed like a feeble attempt to cheer Safi up. “We’ll find her, somehow.”

“_Them_,” Zander corrected. “We’ll find _both_ of them.”

“How?” Safi’s eyes were glistening, and her voice was strained. “Do you have any idea where they could have gone? They might have been taken anywhere!”

There was a long pause, in which Vivia tried desperately to think of something that would prove where Leopold and Arida had taken them, and then Lev spoke. “Praga,” she murmured, her already quiet voice made even lower by her rough accent.

“What do you mean?” Zander asked her. “How do you know?”

“It must be why he took both of them,” Lev continued hoarsely. She reached up, her fingers brushing the gold chain around her neck. Vivia had forgotten that she was still wearing it, seeing as she didn’t need it anymore.

Zander’s eyes widened in apparent understanding. “Oh.” He turned to the others to explain. “She’s saying that Iseult is a Weaverwitch and can heal other Hell-Bards like she did for us. If the commander himself shows the rest of the Hell-Bards that it’s safe, since he did it himself, it would be easy for Iseult to heal the rest of the brigade. They’ll feel indebted to the prince for bringing her to give them their lives back, and he’ll have more soldiers to support his cause.”

Vivia almost said that it would never work, that the Hell-Bards would never disobey the emperor. But if they were freed from the noose…there would be nothing forcing them to stay loyal to Henrick, and a lifetime of being wronged to convince them not to. Why _wouldn’t_ they choose to side with Leopold instead, the very person who had helped free them from the half-life they lived?

“You’re certain this is what he wants to do?” Kullen asked, looking worried. Understandably so—while she felt sorry for the Hell-Bards being enslaved and forced to serve Henrick, that didn’t mean that she wanted them to join the raiders. This could mean bad things for every nation.

“I’m sure,” Lev replied. “We know the prince. He’d do this.”

“Then we need to go to Praga,” Aeduan said immediately. To his credit, he kept the fear out of his voice and replaced it with steady control. “If we can free them subtly, all the better, but if it comes down to it, we can publicize what Leopold and Arida are trying to do. If the emperor finds out, Leopold will have bigger concerns than whether he can keep Iseult and Caden as hostages.”

Safi nodded. “That might work,” she admitted.

“And we’ll be able to find a healer in Praga,” Zander added, shifting that he was holding Lev in a way that must have been easier.

“Put me down, Zan,” she muttered, pushing at his arm ineffectually.

“Absolutely not.”

“I can walk,” she protested.

“You couldn’t a few minutes ago.”

“It was because we ran from the inn to here. Too fast. I feel better now.” And her voice did sound stronger than it had before, though Vivia had her doubts about whether the Hell-Bard was really well enough to walk from here to Praga. “And you can put me _down_.”

Zander acquiesced and gently set Lev down on her feet, though he remained close beside her in case she collapsed. “That doesn’t change anything. You still need a healer, and we still need to go to Praga.”

“Maybe so,” she conceded, “but I’ll do it standing by myself.”

“I cannot go to Praga,” Vaness interrupted. “I know we have to rescue them, but as I said, I need to get back to Marstok as quickly as possible. And”—she turned to Vivia as though she had expected her to say something sooner— “you need to return to Nubrevna as well.”

Those words hit harder than she had expected, because they weren’t true. She swallowed hard, then said, “No. I can be of more use here. No one in Nubrevna wants me there.”

“Perhaps not, but they do need you.”

Vivia blinked. “What?”

“They need you,” Vaness repeated solemnly. “Your father will not be able to rule the country without ruining it, but do you blame the people for thinking so? Even you were tricked into believing that he wanted only the best for you and Nubrevna. It’s your right, and your duty, to go back and take control.”

“She’s right,” Stix cut in, meeting Vivia’s eyes with relentless determination in her own. “You are what’s best for Nubrevna, and things will just get worse the longer you’re away.”

She wanted it to be true, but she had witnessed how quickly the vizers voted to take away her power and authority, just like they had done to Jana. She had seen the way they ignored her in the High Council meeting, the condescension they had shown her as they refused to obey her orders.

She replayed that memory in her mind again, and this time instead of sparking self-doubt inside her, the recollection sparked nothing but anger. They had spoken to her so arrogantly, with a careless kind of superiority that immediately dismissed her voice as worthless. _Superiority_. They were not her superior, especially not all they were doing was weakening the country and taking away any opportunity she had to stop it.

Vivia’s father did not deserve the Nubrevnan throne, and she owed her people more than standing by and watching him destroy everything she had worked for. He had been trying to demean her for years and slowly chip away at the little power she had already had, and she was still healing from that betrayal—she knew she would be for a long time. But now she channeled the pain from those wounds into righteous fury.

For so long, she had carefully walked the line between timidity and rage. If she was too quiet, she had feared being seen as weak like her mother had been. If she was too bold, she had feared being harsh, like her father. Now, though? As she glanced from Vaness to Stix with the realization that they had been right all along? Now, she took the empathy that was Jana’s and the anger that was Serafin’s and molded it, _used_ it until it was something new. Something that was hers.

_Superiority_. Not any longer.

“I’m going to go back to Nubrevna,” Vivia said, “and I’m going to be queen.”

Vaness actually smiled, and nodded in approval. “We can take the same route for most of the way there, and continue planning for how to restore order to Marstok and Nubrevna. Besides, especially with the raiders, there is safety in numbers. Two travelers will be safer than just one.”

“Three,” Stix corrected pointedly. “I’m coming with you.”

Vivia released a breath she hadn’t noticed she was holding—she knew that going back to Nubrevna was the right thing to do, but that didn’t mean it would be the easy thing if Stix wasn’t going with her. Having the familiarity of Stacia Sotar’s presence beside her made everything easier.

“Actually…” Ryber began slowly, and Vivia came back to reality. The Sightwitch had been talking to Kullen, Merik, and Cam, and Vivia hadn’t been aware of them stopping to pay attention to this conversation.

“Actually what?” Stix asked. She sounded wary.

“Actually, it might be wise if you came with us instead. I was just saying that some of Eridysi’s remaining notes were sent to the Veñaza City archives, and if we go there to find them, we could learn more about the Paladins. What they can do, why the Raider King wants them, and how we can use your abilities to fight back against him.”

Stix stared at her in confusion. “Haven’t you read her notes? Weren’t they in the convent?”

“Her _journals_, yes,” Ryber corrected, “but not all of her records. There is still so much I don’t know about the Paladins, and we need to learn if we want to know what the Raider King wants. That’s why you need to go with us. There isn’t any use in understanding your abilities if you aren’t there to use them.”

“But Vivia and Vaness can’t go back across the continent by themselves,” Stix protested. “They’re too important. If they get lost, or attacked, this would all be over.”

Cam avoided Stix’s gaze. He seemed to be siding with Ryber in this. “No offense, Captain, but they can take care of themselves well enough. No one would expect them to be on their own anyway. But Ry is right, the journals and notes won’t’ve been of any use if you aren’t there to use them, sir.”

There was a long pause, and Stix seemed to be considering what he had said. Then she turned to Vivia, indecision plainly written on her dark eyes. “They have a point, Vivia, but…I just got you back. I don’t want to let you go again. I don’t want to lose you.”

Neither did she—but she knew that it was Stix’s choice to make, and that it would be selfish to ask her to ignore all reason for Vivia’s sake. They had to act now, and she had to do what was best for her country. If that meant being separated from Stix for a little while—because it would only be for a little while; it had to be, or else she knew she would lose her nerve—then she knew they had to do it.

So Vivia bit her lip, nodded, and embraced Stix like it was every kind of good-bye. It wasn’t, of course. It couldn’t be. But still…she held on a little tighter for all the things she didn’t say, for all the things that stood between their immediate future and each other. “You won’t lose me,” Vivia whispered. “I promise.”

“Good,” Stix murmured into her ear as she hugged her back. “Because we’re going to see each other again, and everything will be all right.”

“Of course it will.” There was no other option. It had to be all right.

As soon as she pulled away, Merik stepped in front of Vivia and gave her a short, awkward hug. “Stay safe,” he told her. “And Vivia…I know I’ve never told you this before, but you _are_ what Nubrevna needs right now. I mean that.”

“Thank you, Merry.” And she meant it too.

Vivia turned around to see that the others were already prepared to go, or at least as prepared as they could be expected to be on so little notice. Those who were going to Praga said their goodbyes quickly and then left without another word—walking slower than normal for Lev’s and Owl’s sakes. Vivia found herself wishing for the best not just for their mission, but also for Aeduan. She had a newfound respect for the Bloodwitch after their conversation in the woods.

And just maybe some for herself as she joined Vaness and began to make her way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, that was a longer chapter than normal. I hope you all enjoyed - I'd love to hear what you think!


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Aeduan, Safi, Lev, Zander, and Owl continue on their way to Praga to rescue the new captives, new complications arise, as well as confusing blood-scents that seem distinctly out of place for where they are in Cartorra. Meanwhile, Merik and the others alongside him meet a certain character who has been previously absent in this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than normal, but I can promise that the next few ones won't be. So much going on in the foreseeable future!!!

One silver taler. It was so small, so insignificant, and yet somehow nothing had ever seemed as heavy as the coin did now. Aeduan’s hand kept straying to his pocket to make sure that it was still there, tied on its broken cord, even though he knew there was no use in doing so. He didn’t really expect it to be missing, after all, when its presence there was the only thing he could focus on.

How Lizl would scoff if she could see him now: the one who had found half of the Cahr Awen and sworn to protect her, but had stood by and watched as she was kidnapped by a Glamourwitch prince. It was pathetic—_he_ was pathetic. For all of his life, he had prided himself on being able to face anything and win, but all it had taken was the voice of a Wordwitch to render him helpless.

He knew that it wasn’t just out of obligation to the Cahr Awen that Aeduan was so concerned about Iseult. No, not just concerned; he was downright frightened, even if saying so went against everything he had been taught. His rationality didn’t matter at the moment, couldn’t matter, not when Iseult had been taken.

All he could think about was the moment they had shared together outside that cave. It seemed like an eternity ago that Iseult told him she didn’t know what she would have done if he was gone, that they kissed, that he said he trusted her as if her soul were his. Even though it felt like so long ago, however, he vividly remembered the look in her hazel eyes staring into his. He had replaced the taler on its cord, his hands lingering over her shoulders and neck as he adjusted the coin.

The coin now in his pocket, of no use to anyone. He was almost upset that Vivia had given it back to him. While he wouldn’t have liked for her to have it, it was distracting him more than he liked to admit.

Aeduan wished they could move faster, that they could reach Praga sooner so he could find Iseult and somehow get her away from Leopold and Arida. If they quickened their pace any more than they already had, though, he didn’t think Owl or Lev would be able to keep up. They already seemed to be struggling.

He tried not to speak unless he was asked a direct question so he wouldn’t accidentally betray how tense he really was. Still, he did not think he was succeeding.

“Is there any other way you can track her?” Safiya asked for the third time, and he clenched his fists.

“_No_. She has no blood-scent, Safiya. The coin was all we had.”

“Is that possible?” Zander asked, sounding confused. “For someone to have no blood-scent at all?”

“Clearly,” Aeduan snapped. He had no explanation to offer, either for himself or for the Hell-Bard. He was tired of answering questions, and it felt like he had done nothing else since separating from the others and beginning the journey to Praga. Safiya kept asking him if he could track Iseult, if he could track Leopold and Arida, if there was any way he could determine where exactly they were headed. Lev and Zander kept asking him the same about Caden, and whether it would be possible to get the two captives away before the prince could force them to do anything dangerous. Owl had stayed remarkably silent, considering how troubled she looked, but he made a point of reassuring her in low tones as often as possible. The last thing they needed was for Owl to get too worried and accidentally cause an earthquake.

If things were different, Aeduan might have liked to go to Veñaza City with Ryber and the others. Though he couldn’t do much about the Paladins, he wanted to see his mother’s notes and journals—any small remnant of her life that remained. Still, he wasn’t foolish enough to look for the legacy of the dead instead of protecting the living, especially not when the living was Iseult.

And Caden too, he supposed, but Iseult was the priority. _His _priority, at least.

“There must be a reason for that,” Lev said. Her voice sounded pinched and she had to be in a lot of pain, but she was conscious and she was walking. As long as both of those things were true, they couldn’t stop, nor did he think that she expected or wanted them to. “People don’t just not have blood-scents for no reason, do they?”

“Of course they don’t. I—” Aeduan stopped speaking and walking abruptly as he became aware of a blood-scent, a frustrating and familiar one that he couldn’t identify any more than he had the first time he detected the person whose blood smelled of crystal lakes and frozen winters. He closed his eyes to better focus on the scent. It was in the direction of Praga, where they were already going—and though he wouldn’t chase after it if it disappeared again, he couldn’t ignore this opportunity. With a quick gesture for the others to follow, he took off at a run in the direction of the person.

He heard Safiya muttering curses behind him, but when he glanced back he saw that everyone had followed. Safiya was even guiding Owl to make sure she didn’t get separated from them or lost, which he greatly appreciated.

“Where are you taking us?” the Truthwitch demanded, not slowing down but not seeming happy about it either. “What’s going on?”

“A blood-scent,” he tried to explain. “I have been following it for so long, and I found it again.”

There was a sound of disbelief, and then: “Are you serious? That doesn’t matter, not right now!”

“I know, but…I think this person has some connection to Iseult, somehow. I do not know how. Just trust me.”

Safiya grumbled something about not trusting him at all, but before he could explain any further, Aeduan had lost the blood-scent again. There was no trace of crystal lakes or frozen winters, no indication that this person had ever been here at all.

Sighing sharply, he turned around to face the others and admit that they were gone. Lev and Zander had been trailing behind Aeduan and Safi, still running but much more slowly. When they were a few paces away, Lev’s knees buckled and she collapsed. Her breathing was loud enough to fill the clearing, and it was unsteady and shallow. Aeduan didn’t sense a problem with her injury, at least not at the moment, but she was clearly too exhausted to keep going.

This would, to a rational person, be the perfect time to accept Zander’s earlier intention of carrying her, at least long enough for her to regain her strength. Instead the foolish Hell-Bard tried to push herself to her feet while pulling away from Zander’s outstretched hands—and as soon as she turned away, she let out a strangled gasp and crumpled to the ground again.

Aeduan was distracted from his search for the blood-scent by the new one that washed over him: Lev’s. Her wound had apparently reopened as she twisted her body while trying to get up, and he didn’t need to be right beside her to know she was bleeding again.

“Are you all right?” Safi asked, sounding worried. “What happened?”

“The stitches tore,” Aeduan explained, pushing forward to get to the Hell-Bard. They needed to find and rescue Iseult, yes, but he couldn’t stand by and do nothing to help. He hadn’t saved Lev once just to let her die now.

He knelt beside her, trying to determine how bad it was while Zander tore the edges of his cloak to serve as a bandage. Still, Aeduan knew that would do little to stop the bleeding now that the injury had opened again, so he latched onto Lev’s blood and stopped the flow entirely. Zander nodded gratefully and bandaged her wound as best as possible without healing salve or much of anything at all. They weren’t far from Praga, thankfully, where they could find a healer for her.

Aeduan picked up the Hell-Bard, focusing his Bloodwitchery on keeping her in that state for as long as necessary. It would weaken him, but it would keep her alive until they got help.

It was difficult to be sure, since his energy was being spent on keeping Lev’s blood still, but as they continued walking through the woods at an increasingly rapid pace, he thought he could detect another blood-scent. This one was farther away, and not in the direction of Praga, but it was familiar enough to catch him by surprise and strange enough that he thought he might be hallucinating.

Certainly that blood-scent wouldn’t be here. Certainly the person it belonged to would be far, far away.

Aeduan shook his head to clear it, ignoring the weak scent of daisies and continuing in the direction of the Cartorran capital and the Weaverwitch who undoubtedly waited there.

Though they had no real way of keeping track of time, Merik didn’t think it had been very long since they separated that they saw the Carawen monk.

They were sitting on a fallen pine tree off the side of the path, which seemed to be in great abundance here in the Orhin Mountains. It was the white cloak that had drawn his attention, as out of place in the dreary browns and greens of the forest as a clean and prosperous building would be in the slums of Lovats. When they came closer, as quietly as possible, Merik could see that they were hunched over a dagger, intently sharpening its blade. They didn’t seem to have noticed the others.

“What do you want?” the monk demanded without looking up.

Or maybe they _had_ noticed.

“We didn’t know anyone else was around,” Ryber said politely, but with an edge of worry in her voice—as she should. Any Carawen monk was dangerous, and they had no way of knowing where this one’s allegiance lay. “Where are you traveling?”

The monk finally drew her attention away from the dagger to observe the people standing in front of her. She brushed away a thick plait of black hair that had fallen in her face while sharpening her weapon, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “None of your concern. If—are you the prince of Nubrevna?”

Merik wondered which would be worse—to deny it and act like he was a stranger who happened to look much like the prince, or to openly declare his identity and risk being seen as a better target with which a Carawen monk could get a ransom. Finally, he decided that telling the truth might give him the higher ground. “I am. And who are you?”

She didn’t seem to be intimidated or even care that he was, in fact, the prince. She merely stared at him coolly while she made it clear, without using words, that she was considering whether she should deign to introduce herself. He didn’t like this woman one bit. “My name is Lizl,” she finally replied. “And it doesn’t seem typical for the prince to be so far away from his country in the presence of…whoever else this is.”

“None of your concern,” Merik replied, taking great delight in repeating her words. “What are you doing here? There’s no one around and I can’t imagine what mercenary job would make you come here of all places.”

Lizl exhaled sharply in annoyance. She had an air about her that seemed like she wanted very much to ignore Merik’s existence, as well as everyone else beside him, but simultaneously needed something from them and couldn’t abandon the conversation. “No mercenary job. In fact, I was looking _for_ a mercenary. Have any of you seen another Carawen monk in the area?”

She had to mean Aeduan, Merik was sure of it. What he wasn’t sure of was whether or not Aeduan wanted her to be able to find him, and whether she was even on their side at all. From what he remembered of what Iseult had told them back in the cave, a large amount of Carawen monks were actively against the Cahr Awen. Did she belong to that group, or to the insurgency?

Beside him, Kullen feigned deep thought, as though he were trying to recall if he had seen another monk recently. As he was shaking his head, Cam said, “No. We’d remember if there was someone else around here.”

“Is that so?” Lizl rose to her feet silently, with all of the deadly grace of a predator. “Then perhaps we can work together to find my colleague. You might find I’m useful to have around.”

“How?” Stix asked bluntly. Merik didn’t think it was smart to act so blatantly rude towards someone who could probably kill them easily, but Stix had always been reckless.

Lizl flipped her dagger in the air and caught it easily. “I’m the best in the monastery. I’m a danger to anyone, and you never know what could happen out here.”

She spoke with a tight smile that was somewhere between a warning and a threat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters is when Stuff Starts Happening and I can't wait for it. Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading this so far, I really appreciate it so much. Take care of yourselves, everyone, and stay safe 🙂


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safi, Aeduan, Lev, Zander, and Owl arrive at the Angelstatt where they can find a healer to take care of Lev's injury before Safi and Aeduan continue on to find and rescue the captives. Meanwhile, Lizl is traveling with Stix and the others, and no one is happy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't seen it yet, I wanted to say it here: there will officially be 45 total chapters in this fic! I finished up the nuances of some outlining a little bit ago and it's been determined. Just wanted to let you all know :)

By the time they arrived at the northern end of Praga, Safi didn’t think they had any time to spare. Stopping Lev from bleeding seemed to be taking up all of Aeduan’s energy, and he had already tripped twice. Whenever Zander offered to carry her instead, the Bloodwitch waved him off and muttered something about it being easier to maintain his hold over her blood if he was close to her.

Since Iseult wasn’t here and Aeduan was busy, it fell on Safi to look after Owl: offering her water when she seemed thirsty, helping her across the rough terrain (though she didn’t need it, the eerie Earthwitch), and occasionally reminding her that everything was going to be all right. She said it for herself as much as she did for the little girl, though she didn’t say so aloud.

It pained her that a childhood friend had betrayed her so deeply, but much worse was the kidnapping of Iseult. Anything else that Leopold could have done would have hurt less, and for Arida to take away her very free will….

_She’ll be all right. She will. She has to._

Safi needed her Threadsister. They depended on each other, and without Iseult around she felt like her mind was spiraling out of control. Her thoughts were an endless chorus of agonized what-ifs, but the worst of all refused to quiet down.

_What if it’s too late?_

It wouldn’t be. Never. Safi refused to think of it.

She was so preoccupied with consciously avoiding this thought that she didn’t realize exactly where they were until Zander spoke up. “This is the Angelstatt,” he noted, his voice low so as to not draw attention. While Safi didn’t think anyone would be actively looking for them here, they had to be a conspicuous group.

“You’re right,” Safi said. “I didn’t recognize it at first.” She didn’t know how she hadn’t noticed it sooner, in fact. Few, if any, carriages passed through this area, as the streets were too narrow and unsafe for anything larger than a wagon. The houses and buildings were small, dilapidated, and built all but on top of one another. It was easily the worst part of Praga, and it was also where Lev had grown up. 

“If things are still the way it used to be,” Zander went on, “I know where we can find a healer. Follow me.”

She followed without another word, though if all went well, not all of them would need to stay for this. While she wanted to make sure the Hell-Bard recovered safely, Iseult would always be more important, and they needed to find her Threadsister if they had any chances of getting her back.

Aeduan stumbled, only barely managing to right himself and avoid falling. Safi grabbed his shoulders to steady him. “Are you all right? We should be there soon.”

“I’m fine,” he said quietly, though his face was ashen and he still looked unsteady. “Let go of me, Safiya.”

She did as he said, though she made sure to stand close by in case he ended up needing her to support him. They had to make it to wherever Zander was leading them, and then they had to go find Iseult.

They _would_. There could be no room for doubt or speculation in Safi’s mind. They _would_ find her Threadsister, and she _would_ be safe.

Zander stopped in front of a small, rather shabby building that looked like it used to be a business but was now a falling-apart home. He knocked once, then twice, and the door opened to reveal a busy-looking woman. Her eyes were weary and her posture was tired, but as soon as she saw Lev in Aeduan’s arms, she stood up straight with wide eyes. “Come inside,” she ordered briskly, “and close the door. Is Lev the only one who’s hurt?”

So this woman knew the Hell-Bard somehow, and knew her well enough to immediately let them in without basic introductions. Safi didn’t understand where they were or why they were here of all places, but Zander seemed to know what he was doing. “Yes,” he said. “She was stabbed in the side and we haven’t had the supplies to treat it like we need to. Get Treise—we’ll stay here.”

“The others can be trusted?” the woman asked, looking over at Safi and Aeduan. She didn’t seem to have noticed Owl.

“They can,” Zander confirmed. “I promise.”

“I’ll go get Treise right away, then,” she replied, and Safi assumed that Treise was some kind of healer. “Take her up to the spare room and get her comfortable. Don’t light any candles or lamps. I’ll be right back.” And then she was out the door, her strides long and swift as if she was determined to help straightaway.

Safi was glad that she was this dedicated to getting help for the Hell-Bard, but she was perplexed by the woman’s comment about candles and lamps. The sun was setting and she thought it would be difficult to treat an injury when it was getting dark outside. Still, she followed Zander up the creaking stairs of the building without argument or vocal opposition.

By the time they made it to the spare room, Aeduan was swaying on his feet and he didn’t look like he would be upright for much longer. Zander hurriedly gestured for him to set Lev down on the bed so he wouldn’t have to keep carrying her, which Aeduan did immediately. He knelt beside the bed, his eyes glowing red to maintain the connection that prevented her from bleeding out. He didn’t look up at the room around them or at Safi, Zander, or Owl, but kept his gaze fixed on Lev.

Zander, ignoring the woman’s previous warnings, murmured “Ignite” to light several lamps spread throughout the room so they were able to see better. Then he sat beside Safi and Owl at a small table in the corner of the room, hopefully to explain where they were.

“This is where Lev used to live,” he began, gesturing to the stairs they had just gone up. “Noreena, the one you met down there, is her mother. There’s a healer down the street that she just went to find, so she’ll be back soon. We could have gone directly there, but she deserves to know what’s happened.”

“Of course.” Safi turned to Owl. “How are you feeling? Are you tired? You can rest now, if you want—since Lev will be staying here, right?” She directed this last question at Zander.

“While she recovers, yes,” he responded. “It’s the safest for her here, and we will still be in Praga. You and Aeduan can go on to find Caden and Iseult. I would go with you, but someone needs to stay here with Owl and Lev.”

She nodded. She knew it had to be hard for him to have to choose between saving one friend or looking after another, but she also knew that this—at least right now—was the right choice.

They sat there in silence for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a few minutes, and then Noreena returned with an older, serious-looking woman beside her. “Let’s see how bad it is. While we take a look at her, you can tell us what happened. Zander, why did you light the lamps? You know the fire—”

“It isn’t an issue anymore.” His voice was low, clipped.

Noreena looked up, blinking in confusion until she turned back to Lev’s unconscious body on the bed. She cautiously took a step forward, then reached out and touched the gold chain around her neck. When she looked up, there were tears glistening in her eyes. “Then she was caught?” she asked Zander.

“We all were. There was nothing you could have done. She fought back, of course, but you know that.” He paused, then said, “We’ve found a way to heal it, though, to undo the effects of the noose. We aren’t imprisoned by it anymore.”

“Thank the gods,” Noreena said gratefully. “But clearly something happened, to get Lev hurt like this. Tell me everything.”

Safi was distracted from that conversation by the other beginning between Treise and Aeduan, who seemed to be explaining what he was doing and how he had been doing it. The healer did a fair job of masking her initial shock of learning he was a Bloodwitch, and reached for a jar of salve that she said would stop the wound from bleeding as she treated it. Once she had carefully and meticulously applied it, Aeduan drew away and braced his hands against the floor, his eyes closed and his breathing deep.

“Are you all right?” Noreena asked, looking away from Zander for a moment to check on the Bloodwitch. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” he murmured, slowly rising to his feet. “It is not easy to do that for a long period of time. Treise will be able to continue from here?”

Noreena nodded. “Thank you for saving my daughter. We are indebted to you, both of us.”

Aeduan just shook his head and then turned to Safi. “We cannot stay here. We need to go and find Iseult as soon as possible.”

“I know we do,” she said, “but are you up for that? You were barely able to stand just moments ago, and we can’t have you collapsing suddenly when we’re trying to rescue Iseult.”

“I will not be,” Aeduan replied impatiently. “I will not be able to do that again any time soon, but I will not _collapse_. And I’m coming with you, whether you want me to or not.”

Safi admired his dedication to Iseult, and shared it, but she also didn’t want him to overestimate his own health and then be unable to follow through with a rescue plan. Finally, she sighed and nodded, knowing that he wouldn’t back down no matter what she said and that she needed the help to save her Threadsister.

“Let’s go, then.”

Traveling with Lizl was proving to be more difficult than Stix would have anticipated. For someone with as much apathy as she had seemed to show when they met, she had a lot of opinions on everything from the route they should be taking to the way that Ryber held her knife. It was a thoroughly pointless topic, at least to Stix, but it had caused a shocking amount of debate and tension amongst the others.

“It’s a common misconception that holding it at that angle makes you better defended,” Lizl said, leaning over to correct her form. “But it can leave you vulnerable to side attacks, and it’s better to have an even grip.”

Ryber blinked, looking offended by her guidance that bordered on condescension. “This is the way I was taught.”

Lizl scoffed. “Who taught you? The sisters at the convent, who had no experience fighting?”

“I taught her,” Kullen interjected, an edge to his voice that Stix hadn’t heard before. “And what you’re doing might be better for a sword or a longer dagger, but Ry only has a small knife and there’s nothing wrong with the way she’s holding it.”

The Carawen monk withdrew her hands with an elaborate sigh, as though they were being terribly unreasonable in objecting to her intruding on something that didn’t concern her at all. “If you get yourself killed in close combat, then, don’t blame me.”

Ryber took a deep breath as if to calm herself down, and then managed a tight smile. “Blaming you would be the furthest thing from my mind.”

Stix had to admire Ryber for being so diplomatic—but really, she was just tired of Lizl intentionally antagonizing as many people as she could. Merik was already bothered by the fact that she showed him no deference or respect, even the calm Ryber had seemed close to losing her patience earlier, and Kullen snapped whenever Ryber was upset by something. Cam was remarkably quiet and stoic, though he seemed to share Stix’s belief that there was no need to _try_ to anger the other people in their group.

She still wasn’t exactly sure why Lizl had joined them in the first place. She clearly wanted to find Aeduan, even if she didn’t know why, but it was beyond Stix’s understanding why she would start traveling with five strangers in order to accomplish that. Merik hadn’t even promised that they were going to actually look for Aeduan—he had just implied it, but they didn’t change their route in the slightest once Lizl joined them. It was foolish and what was more, it was impractical. The monk was in for quite the surprise once she found out that there was no way she would encounter Aeduan, given the direction they were going.

It amused Stix to remember that, but she would be lying if she claimed that she was pleased that Lizl was here at all. She was obnoxious and overly critical when she wasn’t being antisocial and ignoring Cam’s rapidly dwindling attempts to acknowledge her existence. With any luck, she would change her mind about being here with them and leave before long.

When they found a relatively sheltered place to stop and rest for the night, Ryber and Kullen immediately left to gather firewood. She didn’t blame them for leaving as quickly as they could. In fact, she wished she had thought of it.

She wanted to just go to Veñaza City like they had planned, without this nuisance of a Carawen monk who seemed to exist just to complain. She wanted to be sure about something, to not keep guessing and wondering about her own future.

But most of all, she wanted Vivia to be here.

She was distracted from her wistful thoughts by Lizl opening her mouth to make yet another criticism. “We should find somewhere else to stop for the night,” she said, looking around at the woods around them. “It’s too close to the path. We could be found.”

“Who would find us?” Merik demanded, his tone of voice suggesting more exasperation than anger. “We’re in the middle of the forest and I doubt anyone else is here at all, let alone looking for people who are _slightly close_ to the path.”

“You all are reckless,” Lizl noted with her eyebrows raised. “Caution is one of the first things a Carawen monk learns.”

Merik’s hand clenched into a fist at his side. “All you’ve done since showing up here is find nonexistent danger in everything and remind us that you’re a Carawen monk.”

“Not just a Carawen monk,” Lizl replied, her face unreadable. “The best.”

Stix stood up at that, muttering an excuse about joining Kullen and Ryber to look for kindling for a fire. She didn’t want to listen to this anymore, and while she would have to come back to it eventually, it would give her a welcome reprieve from the pettiness of their unwanted travel companion.

She hadn’t gone very far before she caught up to the other two, who did not seem to be gathering firewood as they had said they would. Or, rather, Ryber looked like she had been, but was crouching on the ground in the middle of picking up a fallen branch and was looking up at Kullen as he said something too quiet for Stix to hear. A smile slowly spread across the Sightwitch’s face and she stood up, letting go of the branch and went over to Kullen. He wrapped his arms around her and she leaned into his embrace, looking happy and at peace.

Stix was calmed down just by watching them look so content with each other’s presence, though she couldn’t help but feel like an intruder at the edge of the clearing. _Especially _when Ryber reached up and pulled Kullen into a long, slow kiss.

She turned away to give them the privacy they clearly wanted, and headed back to where Lizl and the others waited. A mixed jumble of feelings warred inside of her—the resignation to hearing the Carawen monk’s complaints again, the happiness she felt for the couple she’d just left back at the clearing, and the ever-increasing desire and wish.

By the gods, she wanted Vivia to be here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking through with this! I've been having a lot of fun writing it and I can't wait for everyone to see what's coming next!!


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iseult hears Leopold and Arida say a few things that make her more confused than ever about what their intentions are and what they want her for. Meanwhile, Vaness and Vivia have an important conversation that leads to a mutual resolution and goal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing supportive Vaness, okay? You can't convince me that she would be excellent at things like this.

“Have you ever been to Praga before?”

It was either a subtle way of gathering information or it was a legitimate question and Leopold was merely interested in making small talk. Either way, Iseult was hardly inclined to answer him, if only for the sake of it causing him a minor inconvenience. Still, she knew that refusing to say anything would be a petty gesture that would do nothing to help her predicament.

“No,” she replied. There. He hadn’t implied that he wanted an explanation or a long answer.

“Why not?” he pressed, his tone light, as though they were friends discussing the various places they had both traveled and not mere acquaintances, one of whom had forcefully kidnapped the other.

Iseult sighed. “Do I look like I would be welcome here?” she asked, gesturing towards herself vaguely. Her Nomatsi features were a curse as soon as she stepped outside of the Midenzi settlement, especially in a large city like Praga.

Leopold hummed absently. She wasn’t sure if he was admitting that she had a point or if he was even paying attention to what she had just said. She never could read him as well as he seemed to think she could, and in times like this it was infuriating.

“Luckily, that isn’t a concern right now,” Arida said, as if it was supposed to be wildly reassuring to Iseult. “The only people who will be seeing you are the people we want you to see.”

She still, however, did not elaborate on who these people were.

Caden had said very little since they had left the others, and Iseult assumed—or at least, she hoped—that it meant he was trying to come up with a plan for escape. His focused and thoughtful Threads seemed to suggest that, at the very least, though she had no idea how he would be able to communicate that to her when Leopold and Arida were hovering so near.

As they neared the palace, Leopold pulled Iseult to the side as she saw Arida to the same for Caden. “Now,” the prince began, “I am going to create a glamour to mask both of you from the perception of others. I don’t want my uncle or anyone else seeing either of you here. Arida and I will talk to the emperor and explain a few things, and then the four of us can leave and go through with our own plan.”

Iseult wasn’t sure why he bothered to tell them this, as it was clear that they had no choice in the matter. With Arida so close by, she could compel them to do anything that she wanted.

Leopold led them forward, and Iseult hoped that the hallways to get to the emperor were filled with Hell-Bards. She couldn’t do anything about him taking her into the palace, or about the glamour that he had created to disguise her, but Hell-Bards would immediately see through it and raise an alarm.

The guards (who were, unfortunately, not Hell-Bards) let Leopold in immediately, and surprisingly allowed Arida to pass too without question. Iseult hadn’t expected that. While not all of her features were recognizable as Nomatsi, some of them definitely were, and it seemed unwise to allow a relative stranger into the palace so easily.

Then again, Leopold always had been one to surprise her.

“Where is my uncle?” he asked one of the guards. “I’m sure he’s been looking for me, and we both have something we need to discuss with him.”

“As far as I’m aware, Your Highness, he is in his office,” the guard replied, her head inclined respectfully towards her prince. “He has no current engagements, so you could go to him now.”

Leopold nodded, then turned and beckoned for Arida to follow him in an elaborate gesture that directed Iseult and Caden to join them as well. Against her will, she kept a quick pace beside the prince as he took them through the disappointingly empty corridors and to a locked door in the east wing of the palace.

“Come inside the office with us,” Arida muttered. “We can’t have Hell-Bards passing by outside.”

So they had thought of that, then.

“Do not speak,” the Wordwitch added, “and do not try to leave until the conversation is over.”

Leopold knocked on the door three times and then stood back, waiting for an answer. When it came, it wasn’t a pleasant or inviting one. “I told you I was not to be disturbed!” Henrick shouted angrily through the door.

“Forgive me, Uncle,” he said smoothly. “I thought you might like to see me.”

There was a pause, and then the door flung open to reveal Henrick standing there, looking at his nephew like he had seen a ghost. “Leopold?”

“Yes,” he replied with a charming smile, gesturing to the left of him. “And as you can see, Arida is here too.”

“Get in,” the emperor barked. “We need to talk. About a lot of things.”

“Gladly,” Leopold said, stepping into his uncle’s office and gesturing for Arida to follow. Iseult and Caden slipped inside as well before Leopold closed the door. It was infinitely strange to be so blatantly in someone’s sight and yet be invisible to them because of a glamour. If Iseult had thought that Arida’s Wordwitchery was eerie, this was just as bad.

Henrick had apparently been looking through war reports when they arrived, but he didn’t seem to care about those anymore. “What happened? You disappeared when the prisoners escaped, so I assumed they had kidnapped you.”

Iseult stared at Leopold’s charismatic, smiling face and prayed to the Moon Mother that he would be lost for words.

He wasn’t.

“They did,” the prince began, and all she could do was wait and listen to whatever lies he was about to tell. “I managed to get away after using my Glamourwitchery to cause a diversion, but I learned much about their plans. Things that you need to know.”

The way that Leopold spoke was artful, and even as she hated him with every inch of her being and wished she had cleaved him when she had the chance, she was endlessly impressed by it. He let Henrick set the pace of the conversation by initiating nothing, by allowing him to ask questions and draw conclusions for himself—but the ominous nature of his words and the long pause after his final sentence dictated exactly when and how his uncle would respond. It made Iseult wonder how many other ways Leopold made Henrick feel like he was in charge when the opposite was true.

Caden was listening intently to the prince’s words, which made Iseult realize that she wasn’t. She was more focused on the _way_ he spoke than what he was actually saying, but she knew that paying attention would be important if she was to understand how they could get away.

“The Nubrevnans are working with the Marstoks,” Leopold was saying. “It’s what we’ve suspected, of course, but I have proof of it now. Empress Vaness was waiting for us when the prisoners returned with me to where they were staying.”

Iseult’s fists clenched, and she had to silently repeat _Stasis_ to try to keep her mind calm. He was giving them up—giving all of them up, and somehow, against all rationality, she hadn’t expected it from him.

“She was?” the emperor demanded, his eyes lighting up with fury. “This conspiracy against Cartorra goes higher up than I thought. The empress herself? Are you sure?”

“I’m very sure,” he confirmed, nodding. “She tried to kill me, in fact; she only stopped because her Adders warned her that it would cause irreparable tension between our countries. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have hesitated.”

She blinked. That wasn’t true—Vaness _had_ tried to kill him, yes, but it had been Arida who stopped the empress, and it was through compulsion rather than practicality. There had been no Adders at the inn or anywhere else, in fact.

What was he doing?

“At least you’ve returned safely,” Henrick said, though he sounded more concerned for the survival of his heir than for the well-being of his nephew. “What about the Truthwitch? Was she taken by them as well?”

“She was, though they took her to a different place than they took me—at least, that’s what I presume,” Leopold continued. “An Adder knocked me unconscious for most of the journey, so I could not see where they took Safiya. When I woke up, she wasn’t there, but Empress Vaness and eight of her Adders were—as were a few officers of the Nubrevnan navy. Though they weren’t there, they mentioned the Bloodwitch and the three rebel Hell-Bards in their plans. It was only after I escaped that I found Arida, or else we would have tried to apprehend them.”

Iseult could not fathom where he was trying to go with this story, but he clearly had a purpose for mingling truth and lie like this. He had a purpose, it seemed, for everything he did.

“The Bloodwitch left after,” Henrick told him, his jaw set. “He released the Hell-Bards and took them with him. I don’t know where he’s gone.”

Leopold feigned surprise, and even Iseult would have fallen for it if not for his Threads. “He did? I shouldn’t be shocked. He was always a little too uncooperative. They are probably working with the Marstoks and Nubrevnans too, then.”

“One of the Hell-Bards might be dead by now, but I can’t account for the others. Still, this is far worse than I had expected. Thankfully you found Arida and brought her back.”

Arida smiled and bowed deeply. “I’m always pleased to be of assistance, Your Majesty,” she said in perfect Cartorran. “As long as you need a spy, I am at your disposal.”

_What_?

Iseult had known that Arida worked closely with Leopold, but since when had she been a spy directly for Henrick himself?

“Good,” the emperor replied, nodding in approval. “If you managed to find out Eron fon Hasstrel was a traitor in the first place, I’m sure you’ll be able to get him back again. Hopefully this time with some of the Nubrevnans and Marstoks as well.”

The Wordwitch bowed again. “I’ll do all that I can, Your Majesty.”

Iseult barely heard the rest of the conversation. She had already been confused and it was only getting worse. _Arida_ was the one who had found out Eron was a traitor and told the emperor? None of this made any sense at all, and she had quickly gone from feeling like she was missing some of the truth to feeling like she had never known the truth in the first place.

She turned to Caden to see how he was reacting to all of this, but the Hell-Bard didn’t seem to notice that she was looking at him. Instead he was staring blankly at Leopold and Arida, watching the prince and the Wordwitch spy with an expression of complete bewilderment that perfectly aligned with his Threads.

For the first few hours, Vivia and Vaness walked in relative silence except but to point out which direction they needed to go in or to check with the other if one of them thought they had heard something. Vivia had expected it to be this way, and she didn’t especially mind it, which was why she was surprised when Vaness abruptly broke the silence.

“You said you were going to confront your father,” the empress noted, her tone distant, but there was an edge to it that suggested there was something more than just those words.

“Yes,” Vivia said tentatively. “I am.”

“Can you?” Vaness asked bluntly. “Can you go up there and face him?”

“Of course I can.” _I have to._

Vaness stopped walking and turned to look Vivia in the eyes. “No, I know you can face him _here_, playing the moment out in your mind with your indignance and righteous anger. But can you face him when you’re alone, standing in front of the High Council and no one there stands up to support you?”

“Yes.” But she sounded a little less certain now, even to her own ears.

“What about when he walks up to you and tries to make you feel less of yourself? When he tells you that people see you as too weak to rule, and that he never expected such a betrayal from his own daughter?”

Vivia fell silent. Her throat suddenly ached with stifled words and her eyes stung with suppressed tears, but she blinked once, then twice to ward them away. She wasn’t going to let herself cry in front of Vaness, especially not when she was supposed to be demonstrating that she could be strong.

“What about when he tells you that you’re like your mother was?” Vaness’s eyes bore into hers, not backing down. “When he finds the doubt in your mind and sympathizes with it, talks about it, uses it to push himself up higher? Will you be able to face him then?”

She swallowed hard. Before, the task ahead of her had seemed, if not easy, at least doable, but now she was questioning herself. She didn’t say that aloud. She didn’t think she needed to.

“No,” Vaness mused, shaking her head. Her voice wasn’t as cruel as her words sounded, but it still hurt. “I do not think you will.”

“Why?” Vivia asked, her voice low and a little hoarse from the tears she was holding back. She wasn’t sure if she was asking the empress why she thought Vivia wouldn’t be able to do it, or if she was asking why Vaness cared enough to talk about this in the first place.

“Because you need to know what will happen as soon as you arrive in Lovats. This will all be for nothing if you aren’t ready for it.” Vaness surveyed her face, clearly trying to read her reaction. “You think this is harsh of me to say. I don’t care. It needs to be said. Your father will not care about being harsh, and you need to prepare yourself.”

She nodded slowly. She wanted to protest that she was prepared already, but she would only be lying to them both. “How?”

“By making yourself strong enough to fight back against whatever he might say without breaking. You can’t have any doubts in your mind when you walk in there to take back the throne. You need to know it’s yours, and claim it.” She raised an eyebrow. “You need to _feel_ like it’s yours.”

“I do.” She didn’t sound as sure as she knew she should.

Vaness turned and kept walking, but she didn’t seem to be done with the conversation. “You confuse me. I’ve seen you act undeniably confident, like when you arrived to discuss trade with me in Azmir. By the end of the conversation, your walls had come down and you weren’t the same any longer. What makes you change like that? What is it that makes you lose control?”

It went against Vivia’s instincts to admit anything about herself, anything that came from deep inside, but she knew that Vaness had her best interests at heart. Besides, the empress was right—trying to confront Serafin would do no good if she couldn’t see it through.

“It’s the fear,” Vivia confessed, and once she said it the words kept pouring out like water from a broken dam. She couldn’t have stopped them even if she tried. “The fear that I _could_ lose control like my mother did, and once that fear takes hold, the mask slips away and I’m just myself.”

“That’s where you are wrong,” Vaness said immediately.

“I know, but it isn’t easy to just stop being afraid.”

“No, not the fear,” Vaness corrected. “The mask. A good ruler wears armor to conceal the feelings that could prove dangerous, but never a mask. Armor strengthens who you are and doesn’t change it.”

Vivia blinked. “My mother taught me to always mask my true thoughts and intentions if I had to go before the Council, because I’m different than them. She called them bears, and us foxes, and said that I would have to transform into a bear when I was near them if I was to be taken seriously.”

“She was wrong,” she replied without stopping to question it. “It’s served you better than doing nothing at all, but you cannot overcome the people in the High Council by becoming one of them. They don’t need another just like them. They need someone new, someone strong to keep them in line, unlike your father.”

“But I’m not strong,” Vivia said, and she was suddenly reminded of the dream she had had of Jana not too long ago. “Becoming one of them might not be the solution, but staying this weak certainly isn’t either.”

Vaness inhaled sharply. She couldn’t tell whether the empress was exasperated or preparing to explain something else, but either way, she wanted to hear it. “Then make yourself stronger without hiding behind a false version of yourself that you create. I hide things from my people, as does every other ruler. I hide things from everyone. But I remain myself throughout it.”

“You’ve always been strong, though. And intimidating. The whole continent is afraid of you, where they laugh at me—or worse, pity me.”

“Which is exactly why you need to change the way they perceive you,” Vaness replied, with the tone of someone who knew exactly what they were talking about. “Raise your own confidence so you can walk up to your father and do more than just ask for the throne, but demand it. You said you’re different from them? Be different. Be the kind of different that terrifies them.”

Vivia laughed nervously, even though something inside her was feeling a little lighter at Vaness’s words. “I’m not sure anything I do could terrify them. They see me as lost, helpless, mad. It’s too late to change that now.”

“Then it’s too late to take back the throne.”

She said it quickly, sharply. Like she was waiting for Vivia to challenge it.

But she thought it over, and the cold words began to sink in. It might seem impossible for her to counter the vizers’ opinions of her, but it would be even more impossible to take back power over Nubrevna if she didn’t do that first. And her father…well, she wasn’t sure if she could face him without preparing herself first. The one person who seemed to be able to do that was standing beside her, and she wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip away.

“Not too late,” Vivia amended. “Just…do you think it would make a difference?”

“Did you think it would make a difference when you made the decision to resort to piracy in order to feed your people?” Vaness asked. It seemed like an irrelevant question, but she was silent until Vivia responded.

“Partially. I knew it would help, but it wouldn’t solve all of our problems. It couldn’t.”

“Exactly,” Vaness said smugly. “You started those Foxes in the hopes that the something you could do would be better than nothing—but it would be the first step and not the final one. This isn’t the end to your struggle, just as it will not be the end of mine with Marstok, but you cannot get to the end without starting somewhere. And I think it’s time for the Nubrevnans to learn to run from the foxes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed! I know this was a really quick update, but I've really been into this lately and I've been writing a lot more, so...yeah, I'll probably be getting chapters done faster.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iseult is directed by Leopold and Arida to do something that, despite the way it initially seems, ends much more poorly than anyone expected. Aeduan and Safi arrive to rescue Iseult and Caden, if they manage to do so safely and without being caught.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is another long one!! (Not that that's a bad thing.)

Iseult stood before the assembled Hell-Bard brigade, intimidated by the sheer number of them. She hadn’t realized there were so many—even though she supposed countless Cartorrans had made the decision to keep their witchery a secret for one reason or another—but she faced rows after rows of the soldiers, all lacking their full armor but identifiable by the golden chains around their necks. She still didn’t understand the kind of magic that must be required for such an endeavor, as Leopold had neglected to explain it as he brought her to the brigade.

“You’ll know why when we get there,” the prince had simply said in response to her asking why she was needed for anything regarding the Hell-Bards. Yet here she stood, still not sure what her purpose was. She was forced to remain in place by an order from Arida, which, though a benign command for now, irked her nonetheless.

She supposed she should be grateful that it was the only thing the Wordwitch had told her to do, and that she wasn’t going to be controlled by her as heavily as Caden was. Arida was still speaking to him off to the side, out of Iseult’s hearing range but close enough for them to still be clearly visible. He stood motionless, listening intently to whatever she was telling him with the distant and glazed expression she had come to equate with being under a Wordwitch’s power.

Arida took Caden’s arm and guided him back to where Iseult and Leopold were waiting along with the rest of the Hell-Bards, all of whom seemed immensely confused by the impromptu summons but unwilling to question it in front of their prince.

“Step aside,” Leopold muttered to Iseult, and she reluctantly did so. He and Arida both also took a step back, so that Caden was in front of the brigade.

“They’re waiting,” Arida prompted, and Caden took a step forward to address the soldiers. Iseult expected him to give some kind of speech, given Arida’s urging, and while that was exactly what he did, she hadn’t anticipated it to be like this.

“I already have your attention,” he began, forgoing any formal greeting. “And I need your silence as well. No one else can hear about any of this conversation. It remains within the brigade.” He stepped forward again, until he was a bit too close to the rows of soldiers for his words to seem wholly professional. “I know you understand,” he added, clearly waiting for confirmation.

He received it, in the form of mingled _yes, sir_s and _yes, Commander_s and salutes.

“The emperor has enslaved us,” Caden said, his tone surprisingly blunt and confident as he walked up to a Hell-Bard standing nearby, seeming to direct his next words at the soldier. “He has taken us away from our families, our lives, our futures, and trained us to do the same to countless other heretics. Isn’t that right, Rayce?”

Rayce blinked confusedly, glancing over to where Leopold openly stood. He seemed to be at a loss for words, and Iseult couldn’t say that she blamed him. Caden might be speaking the truth, but his words were treasonous, especially in front of the prince and heir.

“His Highness agrees with me,” Caden continued, his dark eyes piercing. “Do you?”

“I—I do, sir,” Rayce admitted.

Without another word to the soldier, Caden spun away and returned to his more central position, facing the rows of Hell-Bards yet again. “If we weren’t bound to do as he ordered…well, the possibilities are endless. I think I speak for all of us in saying that none of us would follow him still, but perhaps”—and here his words took on a more hopeful tone, a clearly intentional one— “we would fight back.”

The Hell-Bards stared back at him, a glimmer of optimism in their eyes that mingled with the fear from their commander saying such things aloud. It was dangerous, and all of them knew it. “Sir, that could never happen,” Rayce said finally, as though to end the conversation before things got worse.

“Couldn’t it?” With one quick, fluid motion, Caden took off his noose, letting the gold chain dangle between his fingers.

Iseult felt rather than heard the sharp intakes of breath that rippled through the Hell-Bards. There was a long moment of silence before Rayce spoke again, his voice even more tentative and questioning than before. “This…this can’t be a glamour,” he muttered, his eyes flicking over to Leopold. “If it was, we would know.”

“Precisely,” Leopold said, walking up to stand beside Caden. “This is no glamour. You’ve proven time and time again that nothing I do can trick you. I assure you, I am on your side, and if you join us, you can have the revenge against the emperor that you so desperately deserve.”

“How?” The question came from another Hell-Bard, who wasn’t looking at the prince but at the noose that Caden was holding. He wasn’t wearing it, and it wasn’t hurting him.

Arida grabbed Iseult’s wrist and brought her forward, forcefully enough for her to instinctively follow but not strongly enough to be dragging her. She gave her a little push forward until Iseult was standing between the prince and the Hell-Bard commander, both of whom didn’t spare her a glance and were instead observing the crowd.

“She has a rare ability,” Caden explained, referring to Iseult, “that allows her to undo the effects of what has been done to us. She calls it binding Threads to the weave. We called it getting our lives back.” He tilted his head, another wry smile playing across his lips as he waited for the other Hell-Bard’s reaction. “Does it seem worthwhile to you, Rinna?”

Every word sounded weighed and calculated but lined with pure passion, and Iseult knew that he was using their real names on purpose. It made his message more personal and more likely to impact those listening—not a commander speaking to his soldiers, but a man speaking to his comrades. Though she knew that he wasn’t saying these things out of his own free will, the talent with words was all his. Suddenly Iseult understood why even Safi, a Truthwitch, had been tricked by the things he said.

“What are the risks?” Rinna asked promptly. Her words were curt and proper, though she was visibly tense waiting for an answer.

“There are no risks,” Caden replied. “I, clearly, can speak for the fact that it works. The only risk poses itself if you stay, and you risk losing the chance to get justice for yourself and what the emperor has done.” When she didn’t immediately respond, he changed tactics. “You grew up by the North Sea, didn’t you, Rinna?” he asked, receiving a nod for an answer. As he spoke, his Orhin accent thickened, and it made him seem more human. “You used to cross that little river every week to see the girl who lived in the small town on the other side of the water. You told me that you never had a chance to say goodbye to her.”

Rinna swallowed. “You remembered, sir.”

“Of course I remembered.” Caden’s voice softened briefly before intensifying again. “But I can promise you that the emperor hasn’t. He’s forgotten about all of us, all of the things that matter. All we are to him are corpses that he can find a use for before he has to bury us. Do you want to remain an army of corpses? Or do you want to live? Do you want to fight?”

“I want to fight,” Rinna said quietly. Then, again, louder. “I want to fight, sir.”

Her words echoed through the ranks of soldiers as more Hell-Bards began repeating it. _We want to fight. We want to live. _Though Iseult knew that Leopold could have no good motive for wanting this, she couldn’t help but understand why the soldiers were so eager for the chance to be healed. If she had been captured and subjected to the noose, she knew she would feel the same way, and she would probably hunger for revenge against the person who had put her there.

Arida gripped Iseult’s arm and twisted so that she was facing the Wordwitch. “You will bind the Threads of these Hell-Bards so that they no longer require the noose to be alive, as you did for Caden, Lev, and Zander back in the mountains. You will not use your Weaverwitchery on any person other than the Hell-Bards who need it for this, and do not stop until Leopold or I tell you to.”

“All of them?” she asked disbelievingly. She had suffered no ill effects from restoring Caden, Lev, and Zander to their full lives, but this was considerably more than three Hell-Bards.

“All of them,” Arida confirmed, her eyes daring her to argue further. “Don’t pretend that it will be an issue for you. Now, go. Don’t speak unless you’re responding to me or Leopold.”

Her commands, which had upset Iseult even when they began back in the woods, now drove her to a new kind of anger of which she hadn’t thought herself capable. This was more than the injustice of being forced to do something by way of threats or physical danger—her own free will was no longer hers, and it was the most frustrating kind of helplessness.

Her feet carried her to stand in front of Rayce, who—as Leopold indicated with a gesture—would be the first for her to heal with her abilities. Judging by the look in the Hell-Bard’s face, he didn’t know that Iseult and Caden were being forced to do this. Or maybe, somehow, he could tell and he didn’t care. She wasn’t entirely sure that she would blame him if that were the case.

Iseult began to lose track of time then. All she could focus on were the Hell-Bards coming up to her and waiting for her to bind their Threads to the weave, which she did in a pattern that quickly became rote. She no longer worried about making an error and possibly killing the soldier in front of her. The only things she could see were the Threads that were severed and the Threads she was restoring. She even managed to ignore the awestruck looks and earnest murmurs of gratitude. Arida had told her not to stop, and even her mind could not stop its attention to the task long enough for her to focus on her surroundings.

Finally, Arida murmured “Stop” and Leopold gripped her shoulders, forcing her to stop what she was doing and see what he had to say. Once she was no longer absorbed in the task of healing the Hell-Bards, she realized that the prince’s Threads were looking much fainter than they ever had. In fact, the world around her seemed dulled, as though too much of her energy was being expended in using her witchery so much.

“All magic has Threads of its own, is that correct?” Leopold asked her with the tone of someone who knows perfectly well that he is correct.

“Yes,” Iseult said simply. The word sprang from her mouth before she could decide what to do with it, or decide whether or not to tell the truth.

His eyes sparkled. “And in order to remove the magic of the Hell-Bards, the original process must have severed the Threads of their witchery, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Try restoring the rest of their Threads,” Leopold ordered immediately. “All of them. Before, you must have only been tying the Threads of their life to the weave, which is clearly working. Try it with their magic. If you can restore their abilities as well….” He trailed off, leaving the possibilities unspoken.

_By the Moon Mother, I wish more than ever that I hadn’t ended up here._

“Do as he says, Iseult,” Arida said firmly. “Leopold, I need to speak to Caden. You can continue with this?”

“Certainly,” the prince replied with ease.

“Good. And Iseult—don’t stop. We need all of these Hell-Bards freed and on our side as quickly as possible.” The Wordwitch left without another word to issue some other point of instruction to the Hell-Bard commander.

Iseult turned back to the increasingly-perplexed Hell-Bard in front of her. He had once been a Voicewitch, if the remnants of his Threads were any indication, but those Threads were so broken and small that she wondered if she would be able to bring back anything at all. Still, her misgivings meant nothing when Arida had given her a command. Iseult focused on those severed Threads, finding the place where she could connect them to the world of the living. Even more so, to the person that owned them.

She located it with ease, but when she arrived at the stage of connecting those Threads—of _restoring_ them—she realized abruptly that it was impossible. She was bargaining with something destroyed years ago, trying to bring into being a magic that had been lost forever. It was as futile as trying to breathe life back into a person who had been long dead and buried in a grave.

She knew this with as much certainty as she knew her own name, and yet could do nothing to stop herself from trying, however pointlessly, to connect the man’s Threads again. It took something from her that she didn’t quite understand but that she knew she couldn’t afford to lose.

Iseult suddenly found it very hard to breathe, and she doubled over, gasping for air. Her lungs felt tight, and she wondered if this was how it had been for Kullen when he had a breathing attack aboard the _Jana_. As if by some unseen influence, Iseult forced herself back to a standing position and resumed her merciless attempts to restore the Hell-Bard’s Voicewitchery. She couldn’t do it. She would never be able to.

_Don’t stop._

Leopold’s voice was dim and distant-sounding, even though she knew he was right beside her. “Iseult, stop. You’re hurting yourself. This isn’t working. _Stop._”

But Arida wasn’t here, and Leopold wasn’t the Wordwitch.

She now knew what it was like for Aeduan to overexert his Bloodwitchery—only when he did it, he still managed to accomplish a major feat or, sometimes, save a person’s life. Now all Iseult could do was focus all of her power on mending the Threads before her that were unfixable. Briefly, she saw the Hell-Bard’s eyes, increasingly frightened as he evidently saw the effects that this was having on her.

Her breathing was too shallow, and everything seemed to be spinning around her. Her vision was getting darker and she still couldn’t stop, still kept expending all of her energy in a useless and uncontrollable effort. At this point she couldn’t even see the Threads of the other people standing around her, but she wasn’t sure whether it was because she was too fixated on the Hell-Bard’s or because she didn’t have the strength to perceive anything else.

“Stop this, Iseult!” Leopold said, a trace of panic entering his voice. “Calm down. _Breathe_. You can’t do this. Stop trying.”

_I can’t_, she tried to say, but the words stuck in her throat. She felt weak. Her hands were shaking. She heard Leopold keep telling her to stop and to breathe, sounding increasingly desperate, and he grabbed her waist as though she were about to fall. For a moment the notion seemed ridiculous, but then she realized that her legs had given way and that his quick instinct was the only thing that had caught her.

Her eyes were closed and she didn’t think she could have opened them, but voices began to overwhelm Iseult: what sounded like Caden’s, asking what had happened and if she was all right; the Hell-Bards’, voicing their confusion; Arida’s, debating where Iseult could go that she wouldn’t be found by the emperor; and Leopold’s, quiet and oddly reassuring even though it was his decision that had left her like this.

“It’ll be all right, Iseult,” he told her. She couldn’t respond and didn’t know what she would have said if she could, but she hadn’t expected him to be trying to comfort her like this. “I don’t regret suggesting it, but I shouldn’t have let Arida leave when you tried it. She should have been here so she could let you stop when it was too much for you. I’m sorry.”

It was the second time he’d apologized to her—the first being his quick, mouthed apology before fleeing the inn with Arida—but it was the only time she felt as though he really meant it. 

She didn’t quite understand the implications of that, or why he bothered to say it, but then again, she seemed to be understanding less and less lately.

If Aeduan was being entirely honest with himself, he was still feeling much worse than he had made it seem to Safiya, but he could not let that stop him from going to find Iseult. If he had told the Truthwitch exactly how shaky he still felt, how unsteady he was on his feet, she might have put up more of a fight or argued that Zander should go with her instead of Aeduan—and while he wouldn’t change his own actions because of her opinions, it would slow them down unnecessarily when they had no time to waste.

Admittedly, he kept forgetting that Caden, too, had been taken by Leopold and Arida, but no one could expect him to pay that much attention to the Hell-Bard when Iseult was kidnapped as well. Maybe Zander expected that, on second thought, considering the way he had reacted when Merik made the mistake of only reassuring Safiya that they would get her Threadsister back and neglected to mention Caden. Thankfully, though, they had left the prince behind before entering Praga and Zander was remaining with Lev as Treise took care of her.

That healer had surprised him. When he explained to her that he was a Bloodwitch, she had seemed more impressed than she was intimidated, which was a rare reaction. Still, he supposed she had seen a lot over the years, and if the conversation Noreena had been having with Zander was any indication, Lev herself had used to be a Firewitch before she was captured by the Hell-Bards. Treise was probably used to dealing with shocking situations involving magic.

If he was being _truly_ honest with himself, he would confess that he was distracting himself with thoughts of his experience with the healer. If he focused on anything else, he would lose the calmness that he had carefully refined and made his own. He would snap, as he had back in the mountains when Vivia followed him away from the others.

“Lev and Zander seemed convinced that they would try to make Iseult heal the other Hell-Bards,” Safiya said suddenly. It was the first time she’d spoken since they left the Angelstatt.

“Do you think it’s likely?” he asked. He himself wasn’t sure if that would be Leopold’s intention or not, and he wanted to be certain before they decided where to go.

“I didn’t at first, but the more I think about it, the more plausible it seems. If Leopold is trying to rebel against his uncle, he’ll need all the support he can get, and a brigade of angry Hell-Bards would certainly help his cause.” Safiya sighed. “And it would explain why they took Caden, too—he could speak to them and get them to agree. There’s a high possibility that they’ll be where the Hell-Bards live and train.”

Aeduan nodded but didn’t say what he knew both of them were thinking. While that would be the most logical place to go, it would also be the most dangerous. If they were found, the Hell-Bards would be able to immediately notice Safiya’s Truthwitchery and spread word to the emperor that she had returned.

He said nothing, though, because he knew that the dangers would not dissuade either of them from going.

It was dark by the time they arrived at their destination, which was likely for the best. The more difficult it was for them to be seen, the better, especially when they had to get in and out unnoticed, leaving with two prisoners.

_Unharmed prisoners_, he corrected to himself. It made him feel better to think of them as unconditionally safe. He had no idea what he would do if they weren’t—if Iseult wasn’t.

“There must be a side entrance where we can—” Aeduan’s words were cut short when Safiya roughly shoved him to the side, ducking down next to him and hiding in the low shrubbery. Though confused, he followed her example, trusting that she’d done it for a good reason.

Sure enough, two figures emerged from the barracks, passing by close enough that Aeduan and Safiya would have been spotted if they weren’t hidden. It was too dark to determine who they were by looks alone, and his Bloodwitchery was still too diminished for him to weaken it further by trying to decipher blood-scents. As it turned out, though, he didn’t have to, because they began speaking in voices that were low but all too familiar.

Somehow, even though he had agreed with Safiya that they would probably be at the Hell-Bard barracks, Aeduan hadn’t expected Leopold to walk outside of it as soon as they’d arrived. He struggled to process this for a moment, and then realized that he needed to be listening to whatever was being said.

The prince was talking in a near whisper, however, the syllables flowing together much too quickly for Aeduan to comprehend them. Safiya was listening intently and seemed to understand—but then, she had a much better knowledge of the Cartorran language than he did.

Arida replied in a similar tone of voice, and they continued walking down the pathway and away from the barracks. As soon as they were out of earshot, Aeduan turned to Safiya. “What were they saying?” he whispered.

“Leopold was saying that something hadn’t gone as well as he hoped,” Safiya replied quickly, “and that he and Arida made a mistake. It sounded like he blamed himself for it. She asked where he had taken Iseult, and he said room twenty-nine. They didn’t mention Caden, or what exactly it was that had happened.”

Aeduan didn’t hesitate. He stood up, gesturing for Safiya to follow as he went around to the side of the barracks and found a small door—the kind that probably led to a kitchen or supply room.

Thankfully, it was unlocked and he stepped inside as quietly as possible. The room was dark, and he assumed that most of the Hell-Bards here were asleep. _Perfect. _It would be easier to remain undetected.

He carefully made his way down the corridor, trying to read the numbered doors as best as he could in the dim shadows. Finally, Safiya grabbed his arm and gestured to a door on the opposite side of the hall. It was marked with the number twenty-nine.

Aeduan checked the handle of the door, which was also unlocked. That surprised him, though maybe Leopold and Arida didn’t expect them to be able to escape, for some reason.

As soon as they stepped inside, Aeduan noticed two things: the bright light of a Firewitched lamp, making it difficult for him to see anything else after the relative darkness, and someone rising to their feet upon their entrance. Once his eyes adjusted to the new brightness, he saw that it was Caden, whose eyes widened upon recognizing the two of them.

Aeduan, however, was more focused on Iseult, who lay motionless on a small cot in the corner of the room. Her face was pale and though he could tell she was breathing, she looked distinctly unwell. He was barely aware of making the decision to go over to her until he was already kneeling at her side, his fingers checking her pulse and making sure she had no mortal wounds.

“What happened to her?” Safiya demanded, arriving beside him with hardly a glance at Caden. “Will she be all right?”

“She’ll be fine,” Caden said quietly, still seeming shocked by the fact that they were here. “They made her try to restore the magic that the Hell-Bards once had, and it was too much. She isn’t injured, but her witchery was overwhelmed and she collapsed. She just needs to regain her energy.”

Aeduan released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Leopold and Arida were outside when we came here, and they might be back at any time. Do you know a way out of the barracks where we won’t be seen?”

“I do.”

Aeduan carefully picked up Iseult so that he could carry her back through whatever route Caden planned to take them. It was their only chance of escape now.

“Then come on,” Safiya said, already gesturing towards the door. “We need to get out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all appreciate what I had to endure just to post this chapter, the formatting was a nightmare this time for some reason...lol.


	30. Chapter Thirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vivia and Vaness hear a rumor in town that might change the political state of Nubrevna and how it might fare in the newly-rekindled war. Meanwhile, Merik learns that the only thing worse than one unwelcome travel companion is three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually am quite proud of the chapter summary for this one. Usually I hate writing them and they either come out really lame or wildly cryptic, so...yeah, this one was pretty good!

“I don’t like this,” Vaness said. “What if we are recognized?”

“We won’t be,” Vivia replied with a hint of bitterness. “I’m sure of it. And I don’t like it much either, but we need supplies if we want to keep going. Which we do.”

They had made it to a small town on the outside of the dense forest, and Vivia had—albeit reluctantly—suggested stopping there to rest for the night and get provisions for the rest of their journey. Both of them knew that they had no money with which to get a room at an inn, but they might be able to subtly steal anything that they would ordinarily have bought. It wasn’t ideal, of course, but it was the only option they had when there was no one else traveling with them and when they were going so far.

“But if someone _does_ recognize us?” Vaness persisted. “What then? We still don’t know where Dom fon Hasstrel or those other raiders went. What if they found us here, saw who we were, and captured us? You’ve already been their prisoner once.”

Vivia had, and she remembered it all too vividly: the cold press of Corlant’s knife against her throat, the low and chilling threats he would whisper in her ear, the fear that she would be responsible for Stix’s capture or death. She doubted she would ever be able to forget the experience, but she also knew that she had to move on and take the small risks that she needed to if she was to get back to Nubrevna. At the moment, however reckless it was, they needed to stop in this town.

“I can go by myself if you’d prefer,” Vivia said, knowing that it would make Vaness join her. No matter how apprehensive the empress was about this decision, she wasn’t the kind of person to stay behind while someone else did something dangerous. She was, for better or for worse, a servant of her people, even when her people didn’t want her to be.

“I suppose it would be unlikely for anyone here to recognize us,” Vaness mused, though she didn’t sound happy about it. “Since they have not seen us before. As long as we get out quickly, we might be able to get what we need without being noticed.”

She said nothing, but smiled in silent triumph. Getting Vaness to change her mind about anything was a major feat, whether the matter itself was small or otherwise.

Vivia was determined to be as inconspicuous as possible, so it was with not a little surprise that she whirled around upon someone coming up behind her and touching her shoulder. “Are you Nubrevnan?” the boy asked, and she was startled to see that he was no older than Cam. If she truly had been recognized, and _he_ was the one about to turn her in….

She fell silent. It was impossible to deny that she was Nubrevnan, so she waited to see what he might say next and if he would pursue the matter.

“Have you heard the news?” he pressed. “My sister heard from a Voicewitch that one of the vizers was killed. Do you know if it’s true?”

“I…no, I don’t know,” Vivia replied, her heart already beating faster. “I hadn’t heard about that. Which vizer?”

The boy shrugged. “I’m not sure. I don’t know much, which is why I asked you. I didn’t know if you had received word from home.”

“I hadn’t. Thank you.”

He nodded and then left without another word, probably to go find his sister and ask for more information. Vivia was unspeakably grateful that she hadn’t been recognized during the encounter, but she would be lying if she said that she wasn’t still perturbed by what the boy had said. A vizer had been killed? Which one? How did it happen? She couldn’t imagine it was just a rumor—idle gossip didn’t reach across the continent, after all.

Vaness leaned closer and, under the pretense of adjusting Vivia’s cloak for her, whispered a question that would be unable to be heard by eavesdroppers or people across the street trying to read her lips. “Should we try to learn more about this?”

“If we can.” One less member of the High Council could drastically impact the outcome of her attempt to reclaim the throne. In the best-case scenario, there would be less opposition to her assuming power. In the worst-case scenario, the country would have been thrown into even more chaos than it already was.

“A Nubrevnan person asking about it would look more suspicious than a Marstoki one,” Vaness decided. “I’ll see what I can find out while you try to get supplies if you can—but for the love of the gods, do _not_ draw attention to yourself. The last thing we need is to get caught in this town before we can even make it to Nubrevna and Marstok.”

“I’ll be careful,” Vivia promised, even though she would readily admit that she was nervous. She had stolen things before, but on a much larger scale—not in terms of petty theft, but in piracy. While it seemed like it should be easier to steal provisions instead of weapons from a navy ship, she didn’t care if it was known that the crime had happened for the latter. For the former, it was entirely different.

Vaness turned on her heel to leave, and Vivia slipped off her cloak to carry under her arm. She wasn’t an experienced thief, but she hoped to be able to use it as a bag of sorts to carry the supplies. She wished Cam were here. She knew he would be able to get what they needed in a much quicker and more efficient way than she ever could.

The empress glanced back once and seemed surprised to see Vivia still standing there. “What is it? Is there a problem?”

“There’s no problem,” she replied hurriedly.

“Oh, you’ll never pull this off if you are nervous,” Vaness said, walking back over to her and snatching the cloak, presumably to do it herself. Vivia was slightly offended by the implications that she couldn’t do it, but arguing with the empress over it would delay them and probably cause a scene. So instead she bit back her retort and let Vaness take the cloak, slipping its fabric over her right hand to conceal the Witchmark.

The empress had only taken a few steps forward, though, before Vivia heard the words “Nubrevnan” and “vizer” being spoken again, this time from a group of people clustered together in front of what looked like an apothecary. She turned to glance at Vaness, who nodded once and followed Vivia as she tried to subtly draw closer to the conversation.

“—and I heard he was close to the king,” one man was saying. “Closer than most of the other vizers, at least.”

“I’m not sure about that,” someone else replied, with the confidence of someone who knows what they’re talking about. “I heard that when the news of his death reached the council, the king barely flinched. Not exactly the reaction of someone who cared.”

An excited murmur rippled through the group of people, before the first man said: “Do you think he had a hand in it, then?”

“No,” the woman said firmly. “He might be selfish and hungry for power, but he wouldn’t murder one of his own vizers, especially not one as influential as Quintay.”

“But it couldn’t have been an accident,” another man from the back piped up.

“Perhaps it was—he might have gotten sick; you know the state of Nubrevna now,” she countered, at which point Vivia was certain that she was the kind of person who would argue solely for the sake of having a chance at being right. “Though it isn’t likely, and it doesn’t much matter how he died. What matters is what that means for Cartorra. I heard that Quintay was one of the vizers who supported the king in taking away the late queen’s authority over the country—he certainly seems influential. With his death, and the Great War rekindled, it might be just as easy as it was before to defeat them.”

Vivia exhaled sharply to stop herself from saying anything. Even if Nubrevna would be defeated in this war, it would not be easy. She wouldn’t let it be easy for the other nations.

“Maybe not,” the first man said reflectively. He lowered his voice for what he was about to say next, as though Henrick would somehow be here and listening. “The emperor hasn’t been quick to make good decisions lately, and the heir is nowhere to be found. I wouldn’t be surprised if the war goes worse for us than he’s making us think.”

“Possibly. But not as poorly as it will for the Nubrevnans.”

“With no competent ruler and a High Council that dwindles more by the day? I’ll be surprised if Nubrevna makes it another week.”

“Perhaps they will destroy themselves from within before another country can even claim it.”

“That might be for the best—I wouldn’t like to settle near burned-out forests and poisoned rivers, would you?”

Not wanting to hear anything more, Vivia turned to face Vaness and mutter that she wanted to leave—only to find no one else standing there. Frantically, she looked around to find the empress and saw nobody.

No longer caring for subtlety, Vivia quickened her pace and began searching for Vaness. She had just begun to get genuinely worried when the empress emerged from a side street and grabbed Vivia’s arm with the overly elaborate emphasis of someone who has been spending a long time looking for another person. Which she hardly appreciated, seeing as _Vaness_ was the one who had wandered off.

“Where were you?” Vivia hissed, leading the way back where they had come so they could navigate around the rest of the town. It would slow them down marginally, but it would be worthwhile if they could avoid interacting with people who might recognize them if they stayed any longer.

“Getting the things that we need,” Vaness retorted, gesturing towards the makeshift satchel that she had filled with provisions and supplies. “Someone had to, and you were distracted by the village gossip. What did you learn?”

“It was Quintay,” Vivia blurted out. “Vizer Quintay died, though no one is sure how, at least not yet. They were speculating that it will weaken Nubrevna in the war.”

Vaness sighed once, but said nothing—not to agree or disagree with the rumors, or to ask for further details, or to offer her own possible explanation for the vizer’s sudden demise. Vivia didn’t want to ask what the sigh had meant, or if it had meant anything at all, but it was far from reassuring.

Merik drummed his fingers impatiently as he waited for Lizl to return from speaking with the Carawen monks she said were in the outpost. He had his own doubts about the legitimacy of her claim that the monks would be there—after all, she hadn’t known where Aeduan was, and if she knew about this outpost then she could have assumed that he was there.

_Maybe I shouldn’t be so skeptical_, Merik thought. _Maybe I should hope that the monks are there so she will leave us in peace. _ Ryber had reminded him multiple times already that it would be rude to tell her to leave, especially since they’d already agreed to travel together, but he knew that Ryber was hoping for the same thing he was. Lizl was doing nothing to help them, and her constant criticisms were more of a hindrance than she seemed to think they were.

Though she managed to keep it to herself a lot more often than Merik did, he saw Stix come close to throwing her hands up in frustration when the Carawen monk was particularly stubborn on some point. Kullen, of course, had seen her as an enemy as soon as she criticized Ryber, and Cam seemed to be keeping to himself at the side of the group as they walked.

Or, rather, as they _had_ been walking, since Lizl had insisted upon stopping once they made it to the outpost in this otherwise quiet town.

“What if this is a trap?” Merik mused aloud, more for the sake of saying something than because he really believed it. “What if she and the other monks are going to ambush us?”

“To what end?” Ryber asked. “They would get nothing out of it.”

“I don’t know,” Merik admitted. “But she’s been in there for a while, hasn’t she?”

Cam shrugged. “Only thirteen minutes, sir. I don’t like her much either, but I don’t think it’s an ambush.”

He wanted to ask why Cam was keeping track of the exact number of minutes, but he refrained.

After what had to be at least another five minutes (though Cam probably knew for sure), Lizl returned from the outermost building. She wasn’t alone. Standing beside her were two Nomatsi women, both of whom looked distinctly out of place standing in front of the outpost, and one of which looked so much like an older version of Iseult that she had to be her mother.

“Who is this?” Ryber asked, her voice deceptively calm and even. Merik knew Ryber, though, and he could tell that her patience was being severely tried.

“I’m not completely sure,” Lizl said. “Thankfully, the monks here are also part of the insurgency and want to help us. They’ve arranged for transport to Veñaza City, which is where they think my colleague might be. They made it very clear that these two come with us, or we don’t go at all.”

It was far from an actual answer to Ryber’s question, so before Merik could repeat it for her, Ryber tried again in a more diplomatic way. “More travel companions could only be a good thing,” she said with a hesitant smile. “There’s safety in numbers, isn’t there…?” She trailed off, her silence indicating that she expected them to seize the opportunity to introduce themselves.

The younger woman glanced at the one who looked like Iseult, as though waiting to see if she approved of them saying their names. The older woman gave her a tight, clearly forced smile and turned to face Merik and the others. “There’s also safety in individuality, which suited us perfectly until we were burdened with companionship.”

Kullen raised his eyebrows, looking surprised by her sharp tongue. “A _burden_ that none of us asked for. I don’t see a problem.”

“The problem lies in that we aren’t so naive that we would befriend any person who came our way,” the woman said icily. “Especially none of such a suspicious group as yours.”

“It’s only that we don’t trust easily,” the younger woman put in, her voice bright as though this was supposed to be helpful—or, at the very least, something they hadn’t already observed. “I’m sure you understand.”

Stix made a disbelieving sound in the back of her throat. “That understandable distrust is exactly why we asked you who you were.”

“My name is Gretchya,” the older woman snapped. The exasperation in her voice made it clear that it was a great inconvenience for her to introduce herself, and that the thrice-repeated question was one that she could only barely deign to answer. “And this is Alma. We come from the Midenzi settlement.”

_Midenzi_. It seemed that Merik’s initial suspicions were correct.

Ryber introduced herself and the others to Gretchya and Alma. The former seemed to be hardly paying any attention to their names at all, and the latter seemed to be paying too much. The two of them were certainly odd, and he couldn’t exactly pinpoint the cause of it.

“And this is Lizl,” Ryber finished, not seeming to notice or care Lizl’s scowl at not being allowed to introduce herself. “We’re traveling with her at the moment as she tries to find a friend of hers from the monastery.”

“He isn’t a friend,” Lizl muttered.

“A _colleague_ then,” she corrected, using Lizl’s own word choice from before.

Alma’s eyes lit up, and she opened her mouth to speak without even consulting Gretchya this time. When she did speak, it was directed at Lizl, and it was a startlingly accurate conclusion that left Merik with even more questions than he had had five minutes ago.

“A colleague, from the monastery? Do you mean Aeduan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gretchya and Alma are back - took a while, huh? Lol. It feels like such a milestone to have made it to chapter thirty. So glad you all have stuck with it so far!!


	31. Chapter Thirty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safi and Aeduan return to the Angelstatt with Iseult and Caden, having managed to safely escape from the Hell-Bard barracks without being noticed. Now it falls upon the group to come up with a plan for going forward from here, which proves to be difficult with the great confusion still surrounding their enemies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is much shorter than normal, but it had to be that way in order to fit in with the outline I've made. Also...I had approximately four moments of utterly failing while writing this (from languages to placement to POVs to length) so appreciate this lol.

Safi didn’t stop to ask questions or look at her surroundings as Caden led them down a side hallway in the barracks and down into what seemed to be a tunnel system. She supposed it made sense for the Hell-Bards to have it, considering that they were the emperor’s elite soldiers and that their safety was a priority. It was only natural that they would have a secret exit.

She could ask about it later, though. Now they had to get her Threadsister out of this place and back to the Angelstatt where the others waited.

Safi would never be able to forget the fear that had surged through her when she saw Iseult’s pale, motionless body in that room. The logical part of her had known that Leopold and Arida wouldn’t kill someone so valuable, but that hadn’t stopped her heart from racing and her mind from spinning with all of the worst possibilities.

But she didn’t have to dwell on that any longer. Iseult was safe.

For now, at least.

Once they got down to the tunnels, they picked up the pace so as to be able to escape quicker—but their speed was still limited by the fact that Aeduan was carrying Iseult and by the fact that Caden was leading them and was taking the time to make sure they were going in the right direction. While she knew it was worthwhile to ensure that they’d be able to leave, part of Safi wanted to shout at him to go faster.

Finally, they made it to a door at the end of the tunnel. Caden fumbled at the latch with his left hand and flung the door open, gesturing for them to hurry outside.

_Thank the gods_. No one was waiting for them on the other side of the door, and they seemed to be on the other side of the barracks, which would shield them from the view of anyone who happened to be passing by.

“Where are we going?” Caden whispered, looking back at Safi and Aeduan.

“The Angelstatt,” Safi said. “Where Lev used to live. She, Zander, and Owl are waiting there.”

“Is she all right?” Caden asked, the worry evident in his hushed voice. “Did you get Treise to help her?”

Safi nodded, and then remembered that he probably wouldn’t be able to see her do it in the dark. “Yes. She’s recovering. Now come on, we have to go.”

They went around behind the barracks until they ended up in a narrow alleyway towards the middle of the city. Now that they were in the center of Praga, Safi felt infinitely more vulnerable. What if they were seen? It might be the dead of night, but they certainly weren’t the only ones on the streets of Praga, and if they _were_ caught now, there would be little they could do about it.

When they finally made it to the Angelstatt, she breathed a sigh of relief and led them to the door of the building where the others would be waiting. Noreena immediately opened the door to let them in, and her eyes widened when she saw Iseult. “How many unconscious people are you going to bring to my door?” she admonished lightly as she gestured for them to come inside.

“She doesn’t need a healer,” Caden assured her. “She overexerted her magic—she’ll be fine once she rests.”

“Like the Bloodwitch here, then?” Noreena asked, nodding toward Aeduan.

He nodded. “Where are Lev and Zander?”

“Upstairs in the spare room. Is anyone else going to be showing up here tonight, or can I lock the doors?” she added with a touch of sarcasm.

“No one else,” Safi said as she followed Caden and Aeduan up the stairs to get back to the spare room.

Once they got up to the landing, Iseult began to murmur and stir, and Aeduan immediately stopped walking to better hear what she was saying. “Where are we?” she asked, her eyes still closed but her voice surprisingly strong. “Put me down, Leopold.”

Aeduan stiffened at being called Leopold, but Safi drew closer to talk to her Threadsister. “Leopold isn’t here,” she reassured her. “We’re in the Angelstatt, away from them and where we found you. We’re safe here.”

Iseult’s eyes opened slowly, and then she focused on Safi. “Saf! You’re—what happened?”

“Aeduan and I found you at the Hell-Bard barracks, and Caden showed us a way to get out unnoticed. We came back here—this is where Lev’s mother lives, and she’s letting us stay as long as we need. Are you all right? What happened to you?”

“Arida m-made me bind the Threads of the Hell-Bards,” her Threadsister began, her stutter resurfacing. “As many as possible—Leopold wanted them to work for him instead once they were freed. He suggested that I try to restore their magic, too, by binding the separate Threads, but I c-couldn’t. Arida had left, so she couldn’t change her orders and let me stop.”

It was what Caden had said earlier, but somehow hearing it from Iseult was ten times more comforting. “But you’re all right,” Safi said to confirm it. “You’re safe.”

“I am,” Iseult replied with a small smile. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t explain to you what was happening back in the mountains. Arida was using her Wordwitchery and she wouldn’t let me speak.”

“We understand,” Aeduan said quietly, shifting his arms so that he was looking her in the eyes. “It was not your fault. We—at least we found you.” Safi heard a lot more in his voice that he wasn’t saying, and she was sure that Iseult did too.

Caden offered a quick smile, then pushed past them to get to the door of the spare room. She supposed she understood—while he was clearly glad to be rescued from his captors, his best friends were behind the door and she couldn’t blame him for wanting to see them again.

Aeduan followed him inside, as did Safi. Lev appeared to be asleep, but she had more color in her face than she had for a while and she _looked_ much healthier. Zander was sitting in the corner of the room, watching Treise speak to Owl in Nomatsi. She wasn’t sure how the healer knew the language, but she wasn’t going to complain if it was keeping the girl calmed down and entertained while they had been away.

As soon as they stepped inside, Zander looked up with a smile. “You’re back! Is everything all right? What happened?”

Instead of answering, Aeduan carefully set down Iseult in one of the chairs and turned to see if Owl was all right. Instead of asking him where he had gone or what had happened, she was fully focused on whatever Treise was quietly telling her, so he returned his attention to Iseult. “They didn’t hurt you?” he checked, sitting down next to her a bit too close.

“No,” Iseult assured him. “They would never. They needed me, and they couldn’t use my abilities if I was incapacitated.”

“I don’t think—” Caden stopped speaking abruptly as Lev started mumbling in her sleep, sounding increasingly distressed by something. Finally she sat up straight, her eyes flying open as she drew in a strangled breath—but this time it wasn’t out of pain, but of fear. She frantically glanced around her and seemed to calm down when she saw where she was.

“You’re all right,” Caden told her comfortingly, gently pushing her back so she was lying down again. “Nightmare?”

She blinked, looking still frightened but much more coherent than she had for a while. “Yes. I’m fine. What’s going on?”

Judging by the shaken look on her face, she wasn’t completely fine, but Safi didn’t want to push her on it, especially when she had only just woken up. “We just got Iseult and Caden back from the Hell-Bard barracks. You were right, by the way, about what Leopold wanted from them.”

“I’m always right,” Lev said with a grin that was very typical of her—and that made Safi think that Treise must have done a very good job healing her. “But I’m glad you made it back safely. Did you learn anything?”

Safi shrugged. She and Aeduan had been in and out of the barracks as quickly as possible, with the sole intent of rescuing Iseult and Caden. She was sure that the latter two would have more information than she.

Iseult turned to Safi with a look that was almost apologetic. “We overheard a conversation that Leopold and Arida had with the emperor, and…apparently Arida is one of Henrick’s spies as well. He said that she was the one who reported your uncle as a traitor.”

“_What?_” she demanded. She wondered if she would ever stop being surprised by learning something new about her uncle. She was still furious upon having learned of his allegiance with the Raider King, as well as his sudden disappearance that was still unexplained. When would this end? When would the day come that she would finally be able to let go of Eron fon Hasstrel?

“I know,” her Threadsister agreed sympathetically. “It came as a shock. And when Leopold was speaking to his uncle…I’m not sure what he was trying to do, but he was telling Henrick a lot of confusing lies. There were a few things he said about us that were true, but he kept saying that there were Adders on our side with Vaness. Something about officers in the Nubrevnan navy, too. I don’t know what the point of that was, but I’m sure it was nothing good.”

Caden nodded. “He’s certainly still hiding things, that much is clear.”

“And Arida,” Iseult added. “I—well, I doubt you were able to notice because you were too far away, but when they were kidnapping me in the clearing, Arida seemed nervous. She laughed strangely, almost like she was scared, and her hand was shaking when she had the knife against my throat. Maybe she was worried about how her plan would go, but…it seemed to go a bit deeper than that.”

Safi didn’t like thinking about Arida holding a knife to Iseult’s throat—seeing it once had been more than enough, and knowing that the Wordwitch had apparently had a very unsteady grip at the time made it only more concerning. Still, she knew that it was important to talk about if they were to find out what was going on, and right now Safi had no idea.

“But what happened to you, Saf?” Iseult asked, turning the attention to her. “Where are the others? What’s happened while we were gone?”

“Vivia and Vaness have gone to reclaim power over Nubrevna and Marstok,” Safi explained, “and Merik, Kullen, Ryber, Stix, and Cam are going to Veñaza City to learn more about the Paladins and what they can do. We searched for you in the woods, but we couldn’t find you—you must have been glamoured. I found this.” Safi reached into her pocket and pulled out Iseult’s Threadstone, holding it out in the palm of her hand. “I…Iz, I’m so glad you’re safe. I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t.”

Iseult slipped on the Threadstone and then hugged her, holding on tightly. “But I am,” she murmured. “Threadsisters to the end.”

Safi smiled. “Threadsisters to the end.”

“I found this as well,” Aeduan said, offering her the silver taler on its cord. “I assume they left it behind so I would not be able to track you.”

She nodded, but made no indication that she was about to take the coin. “I’m s-sorry for worrying you both.”

“There was nothing you could have done,” Aeduan murmured, and leaned forward to place the cord around her neck for her. Iseult bent her neck slightly to give him a better angle for doing so, and even after he had put it on her, he left his hands behind her neck for a long moment. “But don’t lose it again,” he added in an even quieter voice. He sounded far more vulnerable than she had ever expected a Bloodwitch to be. “I want to be able to find you.”

Iseult exhaled quietly. “Thank you. I won’t lose it.”

Caden cleared his throat, forcibly drawing their attention away from the moment that Aeduan and Iseult were sharing. “It would be wonderful if you didn’t lose the coin again, but now we need to do _something_.”

“Yes,” Iseult agreed with a nod. “Especially because…well, something happened when I was asleep that hasn’t happened in a while, and it’s made me think that we need to do something drastic.”

Safi blinked. “What did you have in mind?”

“I think we should try to restore the Earth Well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a cliffhanger there, sorry! This isn't in Iseult's POV so you can't really see what led up to her making that decision, but you can probably deduce part of what happened, and the rest will be confirmed soon.
> 
> Also it seems insignificant, but the nightmare that Lev had is actually going to be explained later on and it will end up affecting a pretty major plot point, so...yeah, wait for it.


	32. Chapter Thirty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stix and the people traveling with her arrive in Veñaza City, and some of her traveling companions learn a few things that they had previously been aware of. Meanwhile, Iseult's new plan is set into motion as the result of the concerning plans of the Puppeteer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is where things really start to happen in the fic, and it'll just get more tense from here lol. So I'm really excited for you all to read it, and I hope you enjoy!

For what must have been the hundredth time, Stix wished desperately that she could know what had happened to the others. She knew her own mission was important, which was what motivated her to continue alongside Ryber and the rest—but she couldn’t rid herself of the worry that she still felt.

She still had no way of knowing whether Iseult and Caden had been rescued from Leopold and Arida yet, and while she still didn’t know the former very well, she knew that nobody deserved to be held against their will and forced to do only the gods knew what. And Vivia….

_I should be there. I should have stayed by her side, especially when she_ _’s going to be going before her country to reclaim it._

Normally it was difficult to get Stix to admit she had made a mistake, as her parents and sister knew all too well, but now she readily confessed to herself that she should never have left Vivia. It would be difficult enough for her to get back her power over Nubrevna, and she should not have to do such a thing alone. If it were possible for Stix to go back and find Vivia again now, she would do it in a heartbeat.

Unfortunately, though, it had been over a week since they separated, and she knew that trying to undo her decision would end up doing more harm than good at this point. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about where Vivia was now and what she might be doing.

“Captain, you’re distracted again,” Lizl called, guiding her horse to the left to ride closer to Stix. “You’re barely paying attention to where we’re going and if you aren’t careful, you’re going to end up off the road and lost.”

The Carawen monks at the outpost had provided them with six horses so they would be able to reach Veñaza City faster—they had offered one for each of the travelers, but Ryber and Cam, who had never ridden before and didn’t want to slow the others down with their inexperience, had elected to share horses with Kullen and Merik instead.

Lizl, of course, had wasted no time in demonstrating that she was just as flawless at riding a horse as she seemed to be at everything else, and she seized the opportunity to criticize Alma’s technique. She held on too loosely, the monk claimed, and it would make her more likely to fall off if the horse were to go astray. Never mind the fact that the Carawen monks had claimed these were some of the best mounts they could offer, and that none of the horses had shown any signs so far of leading them off the road. Stix thought Lizl might be upset at Alma because she was unable to give her any information about Aeduan other than that they had known each other as children.

She had no reason to be bothering Stix, though, and it seemed like she was determined to always be not only the best but also the voice of reason.

So instead of claiming that she wasn’t distracted, which would be a blatant lie, she forced a fake smile onto her face. “I’m not paying _that_ little attention,” Stix returned lightly. “Besides, the Carawen monks have only the finest horses.”

To her surprise, Lizl smiled grudgingly. “We do.”

“Can you blame her for being distracted?” Alma added. Apparently their voices carried over the wind, because Alma was a fair way behind them in the group. “You might not be able to see her Threads, but I can, and it’s difficult to see anything else through the worry and concern.”

That might have been accurate, but Stix hardly appreciated the Threadwitch announcing her feelings to everyone who might be listening. It seemed distinctly inappropriate, especially when they barely knew anything about each other.

If Stix had hoped that Lizl would ignore what Alma had just said, she was about to be disappointed.

“Really?” the monk challenged, glancing over at Stix again. “What are you so worried about?”

“Nothing that concerns you.” They hadn’t yet told Lizl what their mission was, and she didn’t intend to until and if it became necessary. While she might be trustworthy, she didn’t necessarily act like it and there was no need to pointlessly endanger themselves.

Before she could answer or press the matter, Merik signaled for them to stop. “Veñaza City is just ahead,” he began, “and if we redirect our route to the northern highway, then we might blend in more with the people entering the city.”

“But what if you’re recognized?” Kullen asked. “It would raise too many questions.”

“They won’t recognize me,” Merik said with certainty, gesturing towards his scarred face. “I don’t look the same as before, and I doubt anyone going into the city now has ever seen me before. It won’t be a problem.”

“I’m more worried about Gretchya and Alma,” Ryber replied. “If they’re seen…well, this city isn’t very welcoming, is it?”

Lizl sighed loudly and took off her Carawen cloak, tossing it to Alma. Then she dug through her saddlebag and withdrew another white cloak, this one perfectly folded and arranged. She reluctantly handed the second cloak to Gretchya. “There are two monks with us. Neither are Nomatsi.”

They took the hint and put on the cloaks, pulling up their hoods so their faces were more or less obscured. If anyone were to get much closer, they would still be able to see that both were Nomatsi, but few would willingly approach a mercenary monk, let alone two of them.

“We just have to be quiet and careful,” Cam said, looking over Merik’s shoulder to see the road before them. “No one’s gonna care who we are if we don’t cause a scene.”

“You’re right,” Merik agreed. “Come on, let’s keep going.”

It wasn’t much longer before they made it to the entrance of Veñaza City, where they were met by four guards patrolling the highway. “Stop,” one of them barked, and Stix slowed her horse to a stop. “What business do you have in the city?”

“We’re just passing through,” Lizl said carelessly. “And hoping to find a friend of ours while we are here.”

The guard didn’t look appeased. “All of you?”

“All of us,” Lizl confirmed, in a tone that implied she found his questions ridiculous. “Is it customary for you to interrogate every person who enters the city?”

“It is now. Apparently the northern highway isn’t as secure as we used to think it was, so now we guard it.”

“It isn’t secure?” Merik asked in a way that sounded like _I pity you for that_ but that Stix knew meant _You ought to fix that._ “Why not?”

The guard huffed. “Because there were two women who set up an explosive trap here and it sent the city into an uproar. Led people to thinking the guard doesn’t do a good enough job at defending the city and its Guildmasters. The whole ordeal was so much more trouble than it was worth, and we haven’t seen those girls since.”

Merik faked surprise. “That does sound strange.”

“Hmm. Well, go on then. With any luck you’ll find the person you’re looking for.” The guard waved them along without another word.

That had been surprisingly easy, and Stix found herself wondering if the rumors that the Veñaza City guards did their jobs poorly might be well-founded. Still, she couldn’t find it in herself to complain when it benefited them and allowed them into the city with no suspicion.

“Are any of you going to explain why you’re here in the first place?” Gretchya asked, her voice as even and emotionless as if she didn’t really care if they answered at all. “We still do not know your purpose here.”

“It’s complicated,” Merik replied. “Why are _you_ here?”

“We have a job to do in the city,” Gretchya said, “and then I need to find my daughter. Iseult det Midenzi—I don’t suppose you know her?”

Stix glanced at Merik and Ryber, wondering if they were going to admit to knowing Iseult. At this point they had surely revealed their secrecy in their Threads, so Stix spoke up, deciding to omit the fact that her daughter had been kidnapped by the prince of Cartorra. “We do. She’s in Praga with her Threadsister, a Bloodwitch, and some Hell-Bards.” Her answer caused more of an uproar than she had expected.

“She is in Praga?” Gretchya demanded, her voice more tense than Stix had heard it yet. “Why? What is she doing there?”

“A _Bloodwitch_?” Lizl’s voice was much louder, and she wheeled her horse around to face Stix. “Aeduan is in _Praga_? And you let me keep thinking that you didn’t know where he was?”

Merik scoffed. “Why would we tell you? We had no reason to believe we could trust you, and we didn’t know why you wanted to find him.”

“Because we’re trying to protect the—” Lizl trailed off, her dark eyes going wide and distant as she seemed to realize something. “Dear gods. Iseult and her Threadsister. It’s them, isn’t it? Why else would he…?” She stopped again. Her horse was skittish, perhaps sensing her own anxiety, and she tugged on the reins a bit too hard. “We shouldn’t be here,” Lizl said.

_Maybe this was a mistake._

As Aeduan waited along the edge of the Earth Well, standing beside soldiers he barely knew and trusted even less, all he could think about was that they might have made a mistake. Maybe this wouldn’t work as well as they had hoped it would. Maybe something would go wrong and the Origin Well wouldn’t be restored, or Iseult would overexert her magic again and get hurt somehow.

It didn’t help, he supposed, that he had gotten far too little rest since they returned from the Hell-Bard barracks. Or, now that he thought about it, since only the gods knew when. Though he had stopped having nightmares of the night his mother was killed, that night wasn’t the only thing that plagued his dreams. Ever since he had Ryber had told him about Lisbet and Cora, his rest had been haunted by visions of the girls in danger, unable to defend themselves against some kind of peril they faced. It changed with every new dream, as did their faces. He had never met his half-sisters and did not know what they looked like, only that he wished he could know them and help them.

Aeduan knew he wasn’t the only one having nightmares—the Puppeteer was visiting Iseult in the Dreaming again, and he could see the look of poorly-concealed fear on her face every time she awoke from such an occurrence. Safiya, too, had been sleeping restlessly, murmuring frequently about her uncle and a few other things that he couldn’t quite decipher. It was becoming increasingly hard for Owl to settle down long enough to fall asleep, as she was growing more and more anxious by the day as to where Blueberry might be and why he hadn’t found her yet. Even the Hell-Bards awoke at least once a night, breathing heavily after mumbling each other’s names in a way that made Aeduan think they were all having nightmares of the same thing, whatever that might be.

To someone else, it might seem like at least an instance of camaraderie in which they all could bond over being unable to rest properly as of late—but to Aeduan, it only meant that they were all severely deprived of sleep and more likely to make bad decisions. Healing an Origin Well could not be a smart thing to do when one was exhausted and had recently overused their witchery to the extent of which they were incapable of walking.

Safiya was needed to heal the Well, also, but Iseult was the one that Aeduan worried for.

And though he knew she wouldn’t appreciate him worrying about her, he could not help himself. As soon as Iseult proposed the idea and explained herself, Safiya had been adamant that they could not even begin to attempt to heal the Earth Well until Iseult had had enough time to rest and recover from restoring the Threads of the Hell-Bards. It had given her more than enough time, though, to explain in great detail what had happened while she was Leopold’s and Arida’s prisoner, as well as to describe the things Esme had told her. She told them, each morning, what the Puppeteer said to her, and it all led to the same conclusions.

_I’m growing stronger again, and you can be just as strong if you’d only listen to what I teach you._

_I cleaved the Air Well here in Poznin, and yes, it was difficult, but I’m sure you could do it too, Iseult._

_You’re close to the Earth Well in Cartorra, aren’t you?_

_Show me I don’t have to do this alone, Iseult. Show me you want to _help_ me._

Esme wanted her to cleave the Earth Well and form a Loom of her own, working with the Puppeteer to create an even larger army of the Cleaved. So Iseult, though still shaken from her conversation with Esme and her experience with the Hell-Bards, had immediately decided that they had to restore the Well entirely before Esme could corrupt it with her witchery.

When they arrived at the Hasstrel estate, it had appeared to have been vacated by the dom and the raiders who had been staying there—much to the relief of Safiya, who had been concerned that her uncle would be there. As it turned out, though, there was a company of soldiers and guards in the woods who had received word that the estate was occupied by raiders, and wanted to ensure that it was not.

Aeduan could easily recall that conversation, as well as the risk they took in telling the soldiers what they meant to do there. They did not believe, at first, that Safiya and Iseult were the Cahr Awen—and he could hardly blame them, for that had been his initial reaction as well. Luckily, the soldiers had finally agreed that there was no harm in them attempting to restore the Well, and this admission came with a preemptive oath of allegiance to them if their venture succeeded.

As it seemed, few people in Henrick’s army were loyal to him by choice. It was Aeduan's hope that if the Earth Well was healed, the soldiers could form a full rebellion against the emperor and join the side of the Cahr Awen.

Now, though, all he could do was set aside his expectations and focus on the present: the immensely worrisome present, where he found himself watching Iseult and Safiya stand by the edge of the Well about to go down to its center to restore its powers.

“Do you really expect this to work?” the soldier closest to him murmured.

“I do,” Aeduan replied, his voice distant and clipped as he stared ahead.

She gestured to him, seeming to imply his existence as a Carawen monk. “Because of your faith?”

He was about to mutter a quick affirmation, but then he considered it, and he thought it might not have been about faith at all. He had told Iseult that he no longer believed in the cause of the Carawen monks and he had meant it. Besides, judging by the behavior of the now-dead abbot, the monastery was doing more harm than good now in the name of the Cahr Awen.

No, it wasn’t out of faith that he expected this to work. He might have misgivings or concerns, but in Aeduan’s heart he knew that nothing would prevent the Cahr Awen from restoring this Origin Well. Then what was it that made him so certain?

_This new cause and hope. The things I’ve found that are worth fighting for. The _people_ I will not stop fighting for._

“Yes,” Aeduan said. “Because of my faith.”

And then Iseult and Safiya were beneath the water, swimming down to reach the center of the Well. He held his breath, knowing that he was unable to see what was happening and how close they might be. It was an instinct, a thoughtless act that was more out of anticipation than anything else. But as soon as he was aware of having done it, he turned it into something else: a way of determining how long Iseult had been below the surface. He didn’t exhale, waiting to see how long it would be before they would have to breathe.

It seemed like somehow a heartbeat and an eternity before Aeduan could barely hold his breath any longer, and though he exhaled again so as to not gasp and seem suspicious, his heart was racing. How long had they been underwater? Yes, he had only been trying to keep track of it from the moment he realized they had gone, but surely they couldn’t keep holding their breath like this.

And then finally, miraculously, they arose again, gasping and clinging onto each other as the Well became illuminated with a light that was all too familiar to Aeduan. For a moment, it felt as if the ground shook beneath his feet, but then the world steadied itself in the blinding white light. The waters of the Origin Well were no longer still but alive and filled with motion.

The soldiers spoke in loud, excited voices, all varying tones of _I can’t believe it_ and _They’re real_ and _The Well is alive_. While they exclaimed their delight and surprise, Aeduan rushed forward alongside the Hell-Bards to get to the Cahr Awen.

Caden, Lev, and Zander came forward to help the Aether half of the Cahr Awen out of the shallows, but Aeduan could only focus on the Void. The shadow-ender. Iseult.

“It worked,” she murmured disbelievingly.

“I knew it would,” Aeduan replied, guiding her away from the crowd of soldiers asking questions. She was tired and wet and clearly not in the mood to talk to a large group of people.

Iseult glanced at him, smiling slightly. “How?”

“I had faith.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People who love Vivia: rejoice upon reading the next chapter. It's gonna be great.


	33. Chapter Thirty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the midst of a reunion between the Cahr Awen + company and those who were already in Veñaza City, one of Eridysi's theories is discovered that immediately changes their plans and priorities. As they prepare to leave on their new mission, Merik decides it's time to apologize for some of his mistakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to shift things around a little in the outline, so the next chapter will be very long (and also awesome, I cannot wait for you to read the next one). This one is hopefully good, too, though! Hope you like it!!

Veñaza City. It was where Iseult had lived for so long in her life, where she had met Safi, where she had finally started to feel at home in spite of all of the city’s imperfections. And yet for some reason, it felt so strange and almost _wrong_ to be back.

The city was the same as it always had been, though she seemed to notice more guards walking down the streets than there used to be. There was Guildmaster Alix’s house, and beyond that was the old apothecary that had been condemned years ago and somehow was never torn down or repaired—and there, down the main street and behind the bank with the chipped paint, was Southern Wharf District, where Iseult knew she would find what was left of Mathew’s coffee shop. It was all too painfully familiar.

Safi remained close by, much quieter than she normally was. Iseult assumed that she felt similarly homesick. Her Threadsister had always been restless, but she had also loved Veñaza City, and it couldn’t be easy for her to be here again but without the intention to remain.

“There’s the tailor’s shop,” Safi commented dully, but while her voice was all but emotionless, her Threads flared with nostalgia. “I wonder how they’re still open. That Marstoki seamstress was the only one who did any of the work, and she left a year ago.”

“Maybe they found someone else,” Iseult suggested halfheartedly.

They continued walking in silence, Safi and Iseult leading the way to the city library and archives. After they had healed the Earth Well, the company of soldiers had gathered even more of their number and swore allegiance to the Cahr Awen. It was a strange experience but a very welcome one, especially when a group of them offered to escort them to Veñaza City to where the others would be waiting. With their entourage, it took much less time than it ordinarily would have to travel to Dalmotti, and now they were one step closer to learning more about their role in the war to come.

Or, as it seemed, the war that had _already _come. As soon as they entered the city, the air had been buzzing with gossip from every person who was a Voicewitch or knew another person who was: Empress Vaness had controlled the uprising in Marstok and was now back in power. All of the Dalmotti citizens seemed to live in fear that her armies would be upon them within the hour to try to take over their country as well, and while Iseult knew that wouldn’t happen, it was strange to see everyone so united in believing it. From her own experience, she knew that it was rare for the people in the city to all come together for anything.

Without meaning to, Iseult slowed her pace as they passed by the inn where Safi had played the taro game. Her Threadsister lightly hit Caden on the shoulder, and he looked confused before realizing where they were. Then he shook his head and chuckled, somehow managing to look both amused and apologetic at the same time.

“Is there an issue?” Aeduan asked, seeming perplexed. “We need to get to the archives.”

“It’s fine,” Iseult replied. “There isn’t a problem.”

They arrived at the library, and it occurred to Iseult that the others might not be there. They might have been delayed on their journey, or perhaps they were elsewhere in the city right now on some other mission. Still, she knew this was as good of a place as any to start, especially since they at least knew that the others had intended to be here.

Iseult led the others back to the section of the city library devoted to records and, to her great surprise and relief, found Ryber with her hands full of journals and manuscripts. “Iseult!” she exclaimed. “You’re back—all of you! Follow me, everyone else will want to see that you’re all right. We found the records, and we’re trying to learn as much as we can from them.”

“You all made it here safely?” she asked, following Ryber back to one of the side rooms designated for private study or reading.

“More than just us,” Ryber said, opening the door for them. “We have three new companions now, and not all of us exactly get along, but I think they’re on our side. You’ll know them.”

She stepped into the room and immediately froze. Dimly, she noticed the Nubrevnans crowded around a table all looking at the same document, but she couldn’t bring herself to focus on them. Not when her mother and Alma were standing in the center of the room, deep in conversation with each other.

Gretchya turned to face the doorway, her jaw dropping ever so slightly when she saw her daughter there. Then her brisk, detached attitude returned as it always did. “Close the door, Iseult. We need to talk.”

“We do,” she agreed, shutting the door and marching up closer to her mother. There was a time for whatever it was that Gretchya wanted to tell her, but Iseult had something of her own to say first. It was still difficult to comprehend and accept, but no matter what grievances they might have with each other, Gretchya deserved to know this. Iseult looked her directly in the eyes, those eyes that looked so much like her own. _Which was exactly what he told me._ _Before the end._ “He’s dead.”

“He…?” Gretchya trailed off. Iseult could see her making the connection, but she needed confirmation. Both of them did.

“Corlant. He’s gone.”

Her mother stared at her for a long moment, as though it took a while for the news to sink in. Then Gretchya’s face crumpled in pure and unfiltered relief, the like of which Iseult had never seen from the stoic Threadwitch. She exhaled raggedly, her eyes as filled with emotion as Iseult had ever seen them as she raised a hand to her mouth. “Gone?” she repeated softly.

“I k-killed him.” This time, Gretchya didn’t reprimand her for stuttering, but listened intently to hear what she would say next. “Back in Cartorra. He was…well, it’s complicated to explain.” So Iseult went back to the beginning and told her mother everything that had happened since they separated outside of the Midenzi settlement, up until they had healed the Origin Well at the Hasstrel estate. Safi occasionally chimed in for the details, though for the most part she stayed out of it, for which Iseult was grateful. She always appreciated her Threadsister helping her, but this was a conversation she felt best having with her mother.

Which was a strange thing that she’d never thought before.

When she finished telling Gretchya everything, her mother did something surprising. She reached out and pulled Iseult into an embrace, holding on tighter than she would have expected. Gretchya had hugged her before, but usually it was in front of a crowd or to make a point. She was always able to feel the insincerity behind it, but not now. Now Gretchya was hugging her like…well, like a mother would.

That one embrace lasted longer than Iseult thought her mother would have allowed, considering the way she had acted growing up. When Gretchya pulled away, she gave her daughter a short and curt nod and seemed to slip back into her state of Threadwitch stasis. “Now, if we—”

“What’s going on?” someone asked, finally looking up from the document that the Nubrevnans were analyzing. Iseult didn’t know her, but she assumed that she was on their side if she was with the others here. “Monk Aeduan, where _were_ you? I was….” The woman trailed off as she saw Iseult and Safi, and she crossed the room to stand in front of them. Safi moved closer to Iseult, her Threads confused by the person that neither of them knew.

And even more confused when she knelt down in front of them, her dark braided hair falling in front of her face as she bowed her head. “I didn’t think we would find you here,” the woman said, seeming to address both of them. “I guard the light-bringer, and protect the dark-giver. I live for the world-starter, and die for the shadow-ender. My blood, I offer freely. My Threads, I offer wholly. My eternal soul belongs to no one else. Claim my Aether, guide my blade: from now until the end.”

By the Moon Mother, this woman must be a Carawen monk, and here she was swearing loyalty to Iseult and Safi. It seemed impossible that someone she had never met before would so willingly offer up her life to serve Iseult, but the unmistakable proof was kneeling before her.

What was she supposed to do? Wait for the monk to say something else? Accept her oath?

“What…get up,” Safi muttered, sounding just as awkward as Iseult felt. “Thank you.”

The woman rose to her feet, but her Threads were still bright with reverence. “After what happened at the monastery, I’m glad to see you are both still safe. I’ll do all I can to keep you that way.”

“Lizl, what are you doing here?” Aeduan asked tiredly. His tone suggested that he wasn’t actually surprised at her presence in Veñaza City, for whatever reason, but that he somehow still wanted an answer.

“Trying to find you,” she said, turning to face him. “So that we could both find and protect the Cahr Awen together, though it seems you’ve done that already.”

Aeduan stepped up to stand beside Iseult and Safi as though to prove a point. “I have.”

“Look at this,” Kullen said from the other side of the room. He was engrossed in the document that the others were reading, and had barely looked up since Iseult entered the library. “Eridysi and Sister Nadya had a theory on how to free people prematurely from the sleeping ice. It was never tested because they believed in the will of Sirmaya and that she would free them when the time was right, but….”

“What?” Ryber asked excitedly, rushing to get back to what the others were reading to see for herself. Cam moved aside so she could read it, not seeming to mind that he then had no opportunity to read what the papers said. “It…by the Goddess. She didn’t write about this in her journals.”

“What does it say?” Cam asked. “Do you think it’d work?”

Ryber read in silence for a moment, her Threads gradually growing brighter and more hopeful. “Their theory is that you would need someone who can connect to the Threads of Sirmaya herself, in order to release the people from the ice, as well as a Paladin to channel that power through themselves in the form of their own elemental magic. It…it does sound like it _could_ work. And we do have three Paladins among us.”

“But would Iz be able to connect to Sirmaya’s Threads?” Safi asked. It was a reasonable question. “I know she’s powerful and can cleave people, but…this is different.”

“She probably could,” Ryber replied, shrugging. “They’re Threads just the same, and surely they’re far stronger near the ice than they are anywhere else.”

Gretchya stepped forward, and the calm expression on her face gave no indication that she had been showing so much emotion before. “There are three people here who have a connection to Threads, and perhaps all of us might be able to do what one could not.”

“We need to leave,” Aeduan said urgently, startling Iseult enough that she glanced around to see if they were in danger. When they she was reassured that they were not, she waited for him to explain the hurry that he seemed to be in, but he didn’t.

“Absolutely,” Ryber replied, scooping up the papers and tucking them away in her pocket before gathering her bag and supplies. “We need to get transportation to—”

“What are you talking about?” Safi asked. “Where are we rushing to?”

Aeduan looked at her like she had gone crazy. “The sleeping ice,” he explained, as if she were being very slow.

“But we don’t even have a plan yet!” Merik protested. “We don’t know if Eridysi’s ideas will work, and if we go all the way to the mountains and then this fails, we’ll have wasted all of our time.”

“Eridysi’s ideas would not _fail_,” Ryber assured him, with a tone that suggested she was scandalized at the idea of Eridysi being wrong about something. “And we absolutely need to try this. Merik, my Threadsister is there. Trapped in the ice. You _know_ what it’s like in there, and imagine being stuck there for over a year. We might not know how you and Kullen were able to escape so soon, but we can’t leave Tanzi and the other Sightwitches.”

“And my sisters,” Aeduan added quietly—and with a jolt, Iseult remembered about the Raider King’s daughters who were also still in the sleeping ice. He had never met them, and had only recently learned of their existence, but still Iseult felt guilty for having forgotten. He must be desperate to rescue them and finally meet the girls.

Ryber nodded. “Absolutely. We need to get Lisbet and Cora out as well. Lisbet might even be able to help us—from Eridysi’s diaries, it seems that she was extraordinarily strong in the Sight.”

Aeduan seemed relatively unconcerned by Lisbet’s abilities with the Sight and more bothered by the fact that they were not immediately rescuing her. He tapped his fingers restlessly, a nervous habit of his that Iseult could easily recognize. “How quickly can we leave?”

After the sudden arrival of their other companions, Merik had barely had the chance to breathe, let alone calmly assess the situation and decide the best method of going forward from here. At first he had protested that they should take a step back and try to rationally make a plan—unusual for him, he knew, but he wanted to be cautious—but Ryber and Aeduan had been so aggressively insistent that they go to the sleeping ice that he eventually acquiesced.

The Cartorran soldiers who had escorted Safi and Iseult to Veñaza City had agreed to come with them as protection. It was a risk to allow them to join their journey, to be sure, but it was mutually decided that it was a worthwhile risk if it would give them a better defense. Besides, Safi and Iseult seemed convinced that the soldiers truly were loyal to them.

And in any case, they would need all the support they could get if they were to cross the Jadansi in a ship that Lizl had obtained through rather questionable favors with Carawen monks. Merik found her connections to be concerning, but he knew he was in no place to judge when it gave them the ability to cross the sea and get to their destination.

Thankfully, they had at least gotten small rooms at a waterfront tavern so they could rest before embarking on the journey across the Jadansi. Hopefully this time it would go more smoothly than the disastrous trip on the _Jana_, but Merik knew better than to tempt Noden by wishing so out loud. Instead, he remained quietly grateful that they would be able to have a moment’s solitude and peace.

The calm before the storm.

_This_ storm would not be one of Merik’s making, though—he was determined of that. He had done enough damage already with his anger, with his witchery, with his mistakes, and now he was going to make them right. Some mistakes would take longer to correct, and some of them he might not be able to, but he could start small and keep on trying. Starting with the stupid things he had done in the Orhin Mountains, for which he hadn’t yet apologized.

They had only managed to get a few rooms in above the tavern, which in itself was better than expected—but it was early in the night and patrons downstairs were being predictably loud and obnoxious. Merik knew he should be trying to sleep, but it was difficult amidst all the noise, and he had a guilty conscience that he was capable of fixing.

Carefully, quietly, he crept over to where Safi was. At first he wondered if she was asleep, but then he saw that her eyes were open.

“Safi,” he whispered, not wanting to disturb the others.

“Hm?” She propped herself up on one elbow. “What is it?”

Merik sat down on the side of the bed so as to not be looking down at her, hoping that he didn’t make a mess of what was intended to be a genuine apology. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. For…for everything.”

“Everything?” Safi repeated. He couldn’t tell if she was amused or asking for him to elaborate.

“The way I treated you on the _Jana_. It was too harsh of me, and I see that now. How I refused to get help for Iseult even when you and my aunt were begging me for it. I shouldn’t have been so blind to what was happening in front of me.” Merik paused. He knew that Safi was able to sense that he was telling the truth, but he still wanted to _sound_ sincere. “And for snapping at you in the Orhin Mountains. You were worried, and you had every right to be. I probably only made things worse.”

“You did,” Safi said bluntly, “but thank you. I could have handled it better, without shouting at you. I suppose I’m sorry too.”

In another case, Merik might have made a comment about how someone _supposing_ that they were sorry was a poor apology, but from Safi it meant more than any eloquently worded expression of regret. It felt more honest, a real reflection of her understandably conflicted state and the way she felt towards him in the midst of it. He couldn’t find the words to accept her apology, to move forward, so instead he reached over and took her hand in his. “We should both try to get some sleep. We’ll need to set sail tomorrow.”

She hummed in agreement, but didn’t let go of his hand. “I never thought I’d see the day you apologized for something,” Safi whispered, though the words didn’t sound as accusatory as they probably should have. Instead, they sounded almost…admiring. “But I guess I was wrong.”

Merik wasn’t sure how to respond without sounding too appreciative or too full of himself, but before he had to, Safi squeezed his hand gently and spoke again.

“I’m glad I was wrong this time, Prince.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will have Vivia's and Safi's POVs!


	34. Chapter Thirty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While on the ship sailing across the Jadansi, Safi finds two unexpected people among the soldiers there and learns some shocking things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Vivia thing will be next chapter, but !!!! I'm so excited for you all to read this one. I've been looking forward to it for a while.

Once again, Safi was on a ship traveling across the Jadansi, but she was no longer a prisoner in chains. This time she was a passenger along with the rest, and so far she—along with most of the others—had spent the entirety of the journey so far being ordered around by Merik, Kullen, and Stix. Which was impressive, since it hadn’t been long since they left the Veñaza City harbor.

Though Safi instinctively disliked following anyone’s orders or directions, even she had to admit that this time it was for the best. Those three were the most experienced among them when it came to sailing, and it would be insensible for them to not be in charge of making most of the decisions. If they wanted to get to the sleeping ice as quickly as possible, which they did, they had to choose the wisest route and navigate it safely.

She was surprised by how ready and willing the Cartorran soldiers were to help. Though they had pledged their allegiance to the Cahr Awen, she would have thought that it would be harder to convince them to take orders from three Nubrevnans. Apparently, though, their loyalty extended to those who worked with the Cahr Awen as well, and soon the soldiers began inclining their heads to Merik respectfully and saluting to Kullen and Stix.

_So much has changed_. Not too long ago, Safi had been in shackles belowdecks in the Jana and Iseult had been close to death from the cursed arrow wound. It seemed impossible that so much had happened in so little time.

“Safi,” Kullen called, diverting her attention away from her thoughts. “Could you bring up more ropes from the cabin? We miscalculated before.”

She nodded and went belowdecks to get the rope. She still wasn’t exactly sure how Lizl had convinced the Carawen monks to let them use the ship, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know—but it seemed to be sailing just fine, even with their mostly inexperienced crew.

After she gave the ropes to Kullen, who thanked her with a nod and returned to his work, Safi heard someone else calling her name from nearby. She turned to face Aeduan, who was leaning against the mast. “What?”

“The Hell-Bards want to talk to you,” the Bloodwitch said, gesturing towards Caden, Lev, and Zander across the deck. “They have been signaling for you.”

“Oh, I didn’t see.” Safi turned to look, and sure enough, they were waving for her to come over to where they stood. “Thank you. Are you all right?” she added, with a touch of concern. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine. You should go soon—it seems important.”

So with a shrug, Safi went to go see what the Hell-Bards wanted that was so urgent. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“Hopefully not,” Caden replied. “There are two soldiers who want to talk to you about something, and they asked us to bring you down to the cabin to discuss it.”

“All right,” she said. It was strange, yes, but maybe they wanted to ask something about where they were going or why they were going there. Or they just wanted to talk to the Cahr Awen. “Let’s go.”

She didn’t recognize these two soldiers, but then again, she hadn’t personally met all of the ones who joined them and she certainly hadn’t taken the time to familiarize herself with all of their faces. They appeared to be around her age, though maybe a few years older, and the woman’s eyes widened as soon as she saw the Hell-Bards.

“No,” she began, shaking her head decisively. “We’d rather talk to only you.”

Safi was starting to be more than a little suspicious. There was no harm in having Caden, Lev, and Zander remain while they had whatever conversation these soldiers intended to have. “What does it matter if they’re with me?”

“There are some things we have to tell you,” the man put in, “that only you should know.”

“They stay with me,” Safi said flatly. Ordinarily she might not have cared, but their insistence made it plain that Safi would rather have people beside her just in case something went wrong.

The woman bowed her head, seeming greatly disturbed by the fact that the Hell-Bards were going to be here for the conversation. What in the world was going on?

“There’s something important you need to know,” the man told Safi. “Please hear us out and stay calm. I promise there’s an explanation.”

“For what?” she asked warily.

The air shimmered between them with the now-familiar appearance of a glamour being dissolved, and as Safi was beginning to contemplate her stupidity in coming down here practically alone, Leopold and Arida stood undisguised before them in the cabin of the ship.

Lev cursed, and Safi probably would have too if she’d had the time for it. _Here?_ Their entire crew was in danger if these two had returned and infiltrated the ship under the pretense of being soldiers. Before she could come up with a hasty plan, though, the Hell-Bards acted in such unison that she knew they had done this before.

Caden shoved Leopold back up against the wall, grabbing his hands and pinning them. Surprisingly, the prince let him and stayed motionless as he was pushed backwards. Meanwhile, Zander did the same to Arida, who also didn’t struggle or order him to release her. Lev withdrew two thin wooden collars from her cloak’s inner pocket—heretic’s collars—and darted forward, quickly fastening them around Arida’s and Leopold’s necks. They made it look easy, and while Safi was impressed by how quickly they adapted to their surroundings and took control of a situation, she also knew that Leopold and Arida—for whatever reason—had willingly allowed it to happen. Lev had been fast with the collars, which restricted a witch’s magic, but she hadn’t been fast enough to make it impossible for Arida to use her Wordwitchery first. They had intentionally _let_ themselves get captured and incapacitated.

But why?

“Please let us explain,” Leopold said, seemingly unconcerned by the fact that he was pinned to the wall and unable to use his Glamourwitchery. “We don’t mean any harm to you.”

“Then why did you sneak onto our ship to pretend to help us?” Safi demanded, even though—surprisingly—his assertion had rung clear with truth. “After kidnapping my Threadsister and forcing her to do your bidding?”

“We didn’t want to do that either,” he replied. “We had no choice. If you would just listen to what we have to say, I think you’d understand.”

Safi was baffled, but she knew better than to let such an opportunity slip by. Leopold and Arida couldn’t use their magic to harm them now, and if Safi had anything at all right about either of them, that rendered them harmless. If listening to them now helped her understand what was happening, and how they could get away from Leopold and Arida for good….

“Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll listen.”

“Thank you,” Arida said gratefully. “If you could tell the Hell-Bards to leave?”

Zander laughed and made no move to release her. “No.”

“Please,” the Wordwitch murmured, sounding almost frightened. _Of_ _what?_ “This would be easier with just Safi here.”

“I don’t care about what’s easier for you,” Caden snapped, glancing over at Arida. “We have this conversation together or we don’t have it at all.”

“Fine,” Arida whispered. “Just please let us go, at least, so we can explain ourselves in a position where you’re less likely to strangle us.”

Lev made a vague sound of disbelief. “So you’re admitting that what you say will make us want to strangle you?”

“Possibly,” Leopold admitted. “But you deserve to know the truth.”

“It had better be the truth,” Caden warned, “because Safi will be here listening to all of it. Don’t try anything,” he added as he cautiously drew back, letting the prince step away from the wall. He nodded towards Zander, who reluctantly released Arida.

How Safi wished she were on deck with the others at the moment. Then she wouldn’t have to listen to this, whatever “this” would be. As it was, she had no idea how they were going to handle the situation once this conversation was over. They had already set sail, and there was no way they could be safe if Leopold and Arida stayed on this ship.

“We’ve done terrible things,” Leopold began, “and you know that. But everything we tell you right now will be the truth—Safiya, you can vouch for that—and I hope you can understand.”

“Nothing you can say will justify you kidnapping my Threadsister,” she said flatly. “But I’d love to hear _why_ you betrayed us.”

Leopold glanced at Arida, who took a deep breath. “We’ll explain all of it,” she replied. “I promise. But to do that…there are a few other things we need to confess.”

“Then do it,” Lev muttered.

Arida’s lips moved soundlessly. It almost looked like she was trying to say _I can’t_, but the words didn’t come out. She didn’t look half as cold and confident as she had every other time Safi had seen her. Leopold actually leaned over and put his arm around her to comfort her, leaving Safi even more stunned. If her magic had detected any kind of deception, she would have believed that they were faking it in a heartbeat, but they seemed genuinely apologetic.

Finally: “My mother was a Cartorran heretic,” Arida began quietly. Safi had no idea how this was of any importance, but at the very least, it wasn’t a lie. “She fled to Saldonica with my aunt to escape the Hell-Bards, and met my father there. He was a Nomatsi from the Korelli tribe, who were in the pirate republic on business. When I was born, he raised me in his tribe for two years until it was attacked and almost everyone there was killed. Then my aunt took me back to Praga, to the Angelstatt, and raised me there.”

The Angelstatt? Safi glanced at Lev, but she seemed unsurprised by this bit of information. Then again, she remembered Arida saying something earlier about having met Lev before all of this started. Maybe she hadn’t been stretching the truth.

“I…I didn’t want to register, once we realized that I was a Wordwitch,” she admitted. “It felt cowardly after everything my mother went through to stay free. It didn’t matter for her, though. Not long after I was born, she disappeared. I assume she was caught by the Hell-Bards and brought back to be given the noose, though I didn’t see her back in Praga when we assembled the Hell-Bards together.” She glanced at Caden. “Her name was Aris. Did you know her?”

Safi watched recognition hit Caden, and he stared impassively back at her. “You won’t be seeing her,” he said, and Safi remembered that he had killed three heretics who refused to go quietly. It was all but an admission.

Arida nodded, as though it didn’t really surprise her. “When I was eighteen, I met Leopold as he was passing through the northern part of the city, and I started spying for him then. It was difficult for him to get time away from his guards, so he couldn’t see what it was like for the citizens of Cartorra, so he asked me to gather as much information as possible. He intended, even then, to take the throne from his uncle because Henrick was ruling so poorly.”

Safi couldn’t disagree with the last part of her statement, but the rest of her story was baffling. How was any of this intended to explain why they had kidnapped Iseult and used her magic forcefully? How could it explain why they were working with the Raider King, who wanted the Cahr Awen dead?

“One day, as Leopold and I were meeting to discuss one of his plans, Dom fon Grieg arrived to ask him something,” Arida continued, her face tight as though it pained her to recall. “And he overheard Leopold saying that it was dangerous for a heretic like me to be in Praga. The dom…he’s very loyal to Henrick, you know, so he was going to turn us in right then and there.”

“If we were thinking clearly, Arida could have influenced him to let it go using her Wordwitchery,” Leopold put in, “but we were terrified that the emperor would execute us both for treason, so instead we promised him anything in exchange for his silence. I thought he would refuse because he’s so close to my uncle, but instead he asked for something that would get him even closer.”

Safi noticed that Caden was watching them speak with a look of horrified fascination on his face, as though he knew where this might be going. She wished he would tell her, because at the moment she had no idea.

“I’m so sorry,” Arida whispered to Caden, tears glistening in her bright blue eyes. She took a deep breath, and then said it all in a rush. “He wanted me to get closer to Henrick so the emperor would believe me, and Leopold introduced me to the emperor as if he’d just met me and wanted me to join the intelligence forces. Henrick let me break the rules as long as I got a Witchmark because it was for his benefit, and then Dom fon Grieg made me give you up so he wouldn’t be the one to do it.”

And Safi’s magic rang _true_.

Utter silence fell in the cabin. The only movement was the steady rocking back and forth of the ship, and even that seemed dull now.

“So it was you,” Lev spat at the same time as Caden murmured, “It was him, then.”

“His other sons had already been caught and captured,” Arida went on. “Though he didn’t have a hand in that. He hoped that if all of his children were put into service of the emperor, that _he_ would be rewarded with a better position. And, well, he was.”

“At his son’s expense?” Safi demanded, appalled by Dom fon Grieg’s actions and Arida’s facilitation of them. She remembered how the dom had treated his son when they were at the Grieg estate, but this was so much worse. This was despicable. He had sentenced his own son to a fate worse than death so that he could rise to a higher status with the emperor.

Arida was blinking rapidly to stop her tears from falling now, but it didn’t make Safi feel any sympathy for her. “You have to understand, if I didn’t do it, he would have gotten me arrested and possibly executed. Caden…well, he would have gotten caught eventually regardless.”

“It was not your decision to make!” Zander sounded angrier than Safi had ever heard him, and he took a step closer to the Wordwitch. “You two said it yourselves—you could have used your Wordwitchery to make his father let you go. You had _no_ right—”

“Zander,” Caden said quietly, placing his hand on Zander’s arm to stop him from advancing further. “It was survival. I can’t forgive the other things she’s done, but…we’ve all made difficult choices to survive. Sometimes ones that harm other people. I can’t hate her for _that_.”

“I can!” Lev retorted. “And your father too. I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head, looking pained and so exhausted. “Not now, Lev.”

She didn’t look happy about it, and neither was Safi, but she nodded reluctantly. “Tell me there’s nothing else.”

“There’s—there’s something else,” Arida said tentatively. “This was around the time that Leopold started meeting with Dom fon Hasstrel, Habim Fashayit, and Mathew fitz Leaux. Before, we’d been worried because we were breaking the rules, but now we were committing treason. It made me paranoid. I would visit my aunt in the Angelstatt often, and I realized that her best friend’s daughter was a heretic. They did all they could to keep her hidden from the Hell-Bards, and my aunt helped keep her abilities a secret, but I was afraid that if she ended up being caught, the Hell-Bards would execute my aunt as well for hiding her. Sometimes they even had the daughter’s friend staying at their home, and _he_ was a heretic as well. It…it was too much. I couldn’t risk losing my aunt. She was the only family I had left.”

Safi glanced to the right of her, where Lev’s hand slowly curled into a fist.

Arida was crying in earnest now, and she took a deep, shuddering breath before continuing. “The daughter was a Firewitch and she had a hard time controlling her magic. It was dangerous for her to stay where she was, so for…for the longest time I wondered if I’d done her a favor. I knocked over a candle—I really didn’t think the entire building would go up in flames, but the daughter panicked and made the fire so much worse. They made it out alive and safely, but the daughter and her friend were the only ones there so when they were being checked for injuries, they found out that they were heretics. And…and the Hell-Bards took them then. I had known that they would, and I didn’t do it to hurt them. I just wanted them gone so my aunt would be safe.”

Before she could say another word, Lev had leapt forward and whipped out a dagger, holding its tip under the Wordwitch’s chin. “Look at me!” she exclaimed, waving her free hand at her own scarred face. At the golden chain around her neck. At her green eyes blazing with anger. “Don’t you _dare_ act like you don’t know our names,” she hissed. “No more of _the daughter and her friend_. Tell me, aloud, who they were.”

“I’m so sorry,” Arida whispered. “Lev. Zander. It’s completely unforgivable, I—”

“You’re right. It is.” Lev slammed her against the wall and twisted her hand so the blade was now a quick movement away from being lethal. It surprised Safi: Lev was loud but she wasn’t normally rough, and now she seemed to pay no attention to how Arida had winced in pain when her shoulders crashed against the wall and just how close the dagger was to her neck. Then again, she could hardly blame Lev for reacting this way. “I should kill you for what you’ve done to the three of us.”

Leopold had only made it one step forward before Zander blocked him from going further.

“Maybe,” Arida admitted hoarsely. “But you wouldn’t.”

“Even if she wouldn’t, I would,” Caden threatened—and though it was incongruous with his dulled, almost apathetic reaction to learning about the role she played in _his_ capture, Safi had no doubt that he meant every word of it. Everything was calm, sacrifices and survival, until someone hurt his friends.

Safi felt like an outsider in a conversation that had meant to be only with her, and she had no idea what she could do to regain control. For a moment that felt like an eternity but was probably only a few seconds, she was sure that Lev was actually going to kill Arida, and she had no idea what would happen then.

Leopold, seeming to also sense the very real possibility, began struggling against Zander’s grip. “No—please—let her go—I swear we can help you—_please_.”

And at that one moment, Safi had never hated Leopold more, and he had also never been less like himself. Where he normally held himself high with confidence and borderline arrogance, now he was collared and powerless. Where he normally told more lies in a conversation than anyone else would in a day, now he had been nothing but shockingly genuine even when it was incriminating. And most surprisingly, where he normally defined himself by his poise and charisma, now he was desperately begging Lev to spare Arida’s life. Safi had seen a lot of impossible things, but she had never thought she would see Leopold without his dignity.

A few seconds later, Lev had released Arida, who reached up instinctively to grab her throat as though shocked that it wasn’t bleeding. For that matter, Safi was too. It certainly hadn’t seemed like she was going to let her go.

“Thank you,” Leopold gasped, no longer fighting against Zander. “She—”

“I don’t want your gratitude, Your Highness,” Lev said, somehow managing to channel all of her fury into those last two words. “And I might still change my mind.”

Safi didn’t even want to look at the Wordwitch right now, so she turned to the prince instead—the friend she had had since childhood who had now betrayed her and her friends more times than she could count, and not just because she had failed miserably whenever Habim tried to teach her math. “You _let_ her do all of this,” she said to Leopold, still somewhat baffled by how willing he was to defend Arida throughout all of this. “You could have put a stop to it immediately, but you stood by and let it happen.”

Leopold’s eyes widened, as though he was imploring her to see his side. “You would help Iseult with anything she wanted, yes? If she did something terrible, something deeply regrettable, to survive, you would stand by her side through it. You would help her, because you care about her and you want her to keep living. You’d do anything for your Threadsister, Safiya. Why can you not understand why I would do anything for mine?”

And she hated that she had no answer for him.

“Please,” Leopold continued, still so unnaturally vulnerable and honest, “just hear us out for the rest of it. None of the rest is quite so shocking, I promise. But you deserve to know the truth, and I—we both hope that at the end of it, you’ll at least know why.”

Arida nodded tearfully, refusing to meet the eyes of any of the Hell-Bards. _Good. Let her feel guilty over it_. It wasn’t nearly enough.

“Just say the rest,” Safi told him flatly. “And be done with it. I don’t know what excuse you could possibly give for the rest.”

Leopold laughed mirthlessly, and took over explaining where Arida had left off. Which was probably for the best, because she was still crying too hard to explain much of anything. To her credit, Safi sensed no deception in that, so she seemed genuinely apologetic. But heartfelt sobs after the fact did little to make three ruined lives better.

“As she said, this was around the time that I started meeting with your uncle, Safiya,” Leopold continued, “as well as Habim and Mathew. They offered to help me overthrow my uncle and gain power over Cartorra in exchange for help with what they wanted. I was foolish and they lied about what it was they wanted. I knew they were working with the Raider King, but I was too optimistic about what the Raider King’s goal was.”

“What did you think his goal was?” Safi demanded. Ordinarily, she would have expected him to lie, but they had both been shockingly honest so far. There was no harm in trying.

“I knew he wanted to find and kill the Cahr Awen, as well as the Paladins—”

“He _what_?”

“He wants the Paladins dead,” Leopold explained, as if he thought they already knew this. “And I can explain why later, but that’s not the important thing now. And he wants you and Iseult dead, of course, but I’m sure you know that already. And Iseult certainly does after what happened at the monastery.”

Something occurred to Safi that hadn’t before, and it ignited a new spark of anger inside her. “You led her there! You were the one that Mathew and Habim sent to escort her to the monastery, and you knew that the Raider King wanted to kill her. If he had succeeded, if the abbot had handed her over, it would be all your fault. You brought her to a place where she would be hunted and killed!”

“I did, but I didn’t know how quickly the raiders would arrive.” He gestured wildly, which she recognized as a habit of his, but this time it seemed to be less for dramatic effect and more to make his point. “I would _never_ have taken Iseult there if I thought the abbot was going to be such a danger to her, or if I thought that the Raider King’s soldiers would get there so quickly. I don’t have a heart of gold, but I do have one. Neither of us were ever working for the Raider King fully and completely supporting his causes.”

“Corlant seemed to think the opposite.”

Leopold stared at her for a moment, as if it took that long for what she had said to sink in. “And then there’s that. When Princess Vivia announced what she’d learned, I had never been so confused in my life. If she had said that I was working with the Raider King, I could understand how she’d learned it—but Arida didn’t directly work for him. She worked with me, of course, and I told the king that a member of my Thread-family was going to help me spy, but I never even gave the king her name. I would certainly never tell _Corlant_ anything of the sort.”

He spoke the truth: Safi could feel it. But then how had Vivia come to find out that Arida and Leopold were working for the Raider King? As she recalled, the princess had become sure of the Wordwitch’s allegiance first and they had then assumed that Leopold was conspiring with her.

Which, apparently, was the truth since they were Thread-family and would do anything to defend each other. While she understood the connection they shared, it was no excuse for what they had done to the Hell-Bards and Iseult.

“We tried to explain ourselves, but…well, once Vaness tried to kill me and Aeduan tried to kill Arida, it wasn’t exactly safe for us. So we left, but you’ll notice that I still tried to protect you by keeping the village’s glamour intact—”

“No you didn’t,” Zander countered. “We were attacked there as soon as you left.”

Leopold blinked at him with the expression of someone whose point has just been utterly missed. “By _Hell-Bards_. No glamour I could have made would protect you from them, but I kept you safe from any raiders or travelers who might have been passing by. I did everything I could.”

Safi had to admit that it had been an oversight on her part. In their hasty escape, she hadn’t had the time to look back and see if she could still perceive the village. She had just assumed that he had broken the glamour once he fled with Arida.

“As for kidnapping Iseult…I know this must be the worst part for you, Safiya, and I understand that. But I have so many things I need to do for this country, and I’m unable to do them while my uncle is in power. The more people I have on my side, the better, and Iseult presented an opportunity to get the Hell-Bards on my side. I kept her as safe throughout the process as I could.”

Arida finally looked up, steadying her breathing before looking Safi in the eyes. She still avoided the Hell-Bards, but that was unsurprising. “I don’t expect you to forgive us,” she managed. “You _shouldn’t_ forgive us. But please understand us, and let us help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	35. Chapter Thirty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone aboard the ship is tired, worried, and miserable, and a new complication arises when Safi has to fulfill an old obligation. Meanwhile, Vivia takes back what is rightfully hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, this fic has gotten really long. Omg. Not that that's a bad thing, though! Thank you so much to everyone who's reading and enjoying it :)

Stix was tired. There was no other way to put it, and no glamorous way to disguise the way she felt at this point. Though the others tried to help as much as they could, and the Cartorran soldiers were proving to be indispensable, there was only so much that people could do when they had next to no experience on a ship. At this point, in spite of the invaluable help that everyone else was providing, Stix, Kullen, and Merik were the only ones keeping them above the waves instead of far below them.

At least now the skies were clearing, both literally and metaphorically. Not only were they getting closer to their destination, but they had just seen what appeared to be the last of a vicious storm tearing through the Jadansi. Though Stix didn’t think they had been in much danger, it was certainly a harrowing experience to keep the ship sailing as smoothly as possible amidst torrents of rain and waves that crashed high and unpredictably against the hull.

_This would be easier with Vivia here_, Stix thought, yet again. _Easier, faster, _better.

In her heart, she knew that Vivia belonged back in Lovats where she could reclaim her throne and take back the power that Serafin had stolen—but that in no way made Stix worry less. If anything, it made her _more_ anxious to know that she had no way of being aware of Vivia’s current whereabouts.

And she certainly didn’t need any more anxiety than what she already had.

She had to admit, though, that it was gratifying to give Lizl an order and watch her have no choice but to obey. She certainly never saluted Stix or called her “captain,” though she knew better than to expect that much. It was more than enough to see the Carawen monk have to finally swallow her pride aboard the ship that _she_ had bargained for.

But her satisfaction waned as her energy did the same. Though she, Merik, and Kullen took breaks in turns so they could give each other time to rest, it was still exhausting to be using her Waterwitchery almost constantly to help navigate through the Jadansi.

Cam and Ryber were tireless, doing whatever they could whenever asked and occasionally forcing Merik to take a break when he seemed inclined to keep going at his own detriment. Some people, though, contributed far less. Safi had been inexplicably high-strung over the past few days, which she would not acknowledge when people asked about it and which was making her snap easily at the smallest of things—and Aeduan, who had been seasick for the majority of the journey, was hardly any help at all. Meanwhile, most of Iseult’s efforts were focused on keeping Owl calm and comfortable while she crossed water for, presumably, the first time. The girl had been on edge ever since stepping foot on the ship, and the last thing they needed was for her to be overwhelmed in the middle of the sea.

On top of it all, Stix had a strange feeling that Safi and the Hell-Bards were hiding something from the others, though she had no idea what it was. Not only was Safi strangely tense and emotional, but she had also been spending an increasing amount of time belowdecks with no explanation as to what she was doing there. Meanwhile, all three of the Hell-Bards were acting unusually quiet unless they were around her, and they often joined her belowdecks when no one else was there. Caden, Lev, and Zander also had been looking even more tired than Stix felt lately, and that had gone without an explanation until yesterday. Ryber had all but forced them to get some rest and when they’d woken up looking somehow even worse and more drained than before, they had reluctantly admitted that being tortured by the Adders in Azmir had left them with vivid nightmares and flashbacks when they tried to sleep. Which, in turn, led to now, as Lev stumbled up to Stix with dark circles under her eyes to say that Merik wanted to talk to her.

So with a shrug, Stix went to go see what the prince wanted.

“I’m surprised that you didn’t go with my sister,” he said without preamble. “To Nubrevna, I mean. It seemed like you would.”

“I wanted to,” she replied. And she meant that with every part of her. She wanted, even now, to be wherever Vivia was. To help her if she could, to be there even if she couldn’t. “But…I was more needed here. It was important that we learned what we could about the Paladins. And even if it was hard, she understood. Probably better than I did.”

Merik nodded thoughtfully. This was an odd conversation, even though it had only just begun. She had never particularly liked Merik, and she knew that the feeling was mutual. But now he at least seemed to respect her, and she was surprised to find that she felt the same way towards him. He certainly wasn’t the arrogant prince that she used to know.

“I never gave her enough credit, you know,” he muttered. “I was blind. But I’m not anymore. Nubrevna…it needs her as a queen.”

“It does.” Stix was about to say more when a sudden noise drew her attention to the other side of the deck. She squinted. Try as she might, she couldn’t tell what was happening.

But apparently Merik could. “Safi,” he said, upon seeing that she was squinting and still unable to see properly. “Let’s go.”

It seemed that Safi had cried out in pain, though she waved Merik away and protested that she was fine. “It was just very sudden,” she explained, her left hand cradling her right one—or more specifically, her right thumb.

“What’s going on?” Iseult asked, instantly sounding worried.

Caden looked like he was about to echo the question, but then saw that Safi was holding her right hand. Instead of asking the question again, he shook his head and closed his eyes in a way that suggested he was both exhausted and exasperated. “Not now.”

“What’s wrong?” Merik asked.

“The deal I made with Kahina. She wants to call in the debt.”

Vivia stood at the top of Queen’s Hill, looking down at the city she had grown up in—the city she had _saved_. This would be the last time that she looked down upon it as the princess or even the Queen-in-Waiting.

Unless this didn’t go as planned. Unless she failed, or the vizers didn’t turn against her father as she hoped they would, or—

_No. I will not fail. I will lead Nubrevna as I was meant to do, and I _will_ be queen._

It was a voice in her head that was entirely new to her, a voice that sounded a little like Stix’s and a little like Vaness’s but, most surprisingly, a lot like hers. The hardest part would come soon, when she finally faced her father again to take back her power from him. She knew she would never feel ready enough for it, but she’d had enough time to deliberate and prepare. Now came the action and the consequences of it, whatever those might be.

Knowing that Vaness had succeeded in Marstok had given her the confidence to seek out Vizer Sotar once she arrived in Lovats. However she wished she would be able to do this on her own, she knew it would be impossible—and Sotar _had_ been indispensable in organizing people to join her little rebellion.

It began with his own soldiers, as he had done before. All of the guards were drawn from the Sotar lands and brought to Vivia, where they swore loyalty to her and called her their queen. It sent shivers down her spine, just as it had the first time that Vizer Sotar said it to her, but for some reason it didn’t seem so strange or unfamiliar any longer.

This was_ hers._ If Serafin wouldn’t give it to her, then by any gods that might listen or care, Vivia would take it.

A handful of guards wouldn’t do much against an entire council of vizers, but it was a start, and it was far more than anything she’d had before. Besides, it seemed that she had drastically underestimated what a handful of soldiers could accomplish. Without any insignia relating to the Sotar family, his guards were indistinguishable from members of the soil-bound army, and in the slums of Lovats, they could influence people’s allegiances as quickly as the high tide could roll in from the Jadansi. All it took was a spread rumor to make the poor families in the city realize that it had been _Vivia_, and not Serafin, who set up the housing system in the under-city. All it had taken was an “accidental” slip of the tongue in a broken-down tavern for the people of Lovats to learn that she had been the one to insist upon the Nubrevnans being protected from the Purist compounds. They were small gestures, but they added up until the inhabitants of the city began to see the absent Queen-in-Waiting as a misunderstood hero instead of an incompetent girl with madness in her head, thinking that she had what it took to rule a country.

More than once over the past week alone, Vivia had heard people asking one another where the Queen-in-Waiting had gone and if she had been injured, or worse. What shocked her wasn’t the words, but the concern behind them, as the people speaking sounded as though they wanted her to come back. One woman had been particularly zealous, and though Vivia hadn’t been able to see her face, her words were still vivid in her mind.

_Maybe we haven’t been giving her the credit she deserves. Hye, I hear she takes after her mother, but maybe that ain’t a bad thing. Jana was the one who signed the Truce, wasn’t she? Her husband sure wasn’t, and he sure isn’t doing anything to help us now we need it again._

Vivia couldn’t say that she disagreed with any of what they said about Serafin or Jana, but she did know that it wasn’t just now that Nubrevna needed help. They had needed help for so long, and when they hadn’t gotten it from the other countries, they had turned to their king, who similarly ignored their needs. No matter how many problems Vivia had with her family and herself, she would not be that same person. She would give her country what it had never been given before—a chance. A hope. A future.

Maybe it was too much to expect that she would be able to do these things alone, but she did know that she couldn’t have chosen a better time for it. The city had been thrown into disorder with the sudden death of a vizer. It was the second time in a very short while that Lovats had been mourning an important figure in their government, but it was the first time that it had changed the course of the entire High Council meetings. Though, for obvious reasons, Vivia had not been attending them, gossip spread like wildfire throughout the streets of Lovats. Now that Quintay was dead, the meetings had been in shambles and Serafin had been accomplishing less and less as king.

What was more, he had been losing respect among the people. It wasn’t Serafin, after all, who had been willing to sacrifice his life in order to save Lovats.

“Are you ready, My Queen?” Vizer Sotar asked from behind her. Vivia whirled around, blinking in surprise. She hadn’t heard him approach.

“I am,” Vivia replied, her voice even and steady. They had planned this so that she would interrupt today’s meeting with the High Council, with Vizer Sotar’s soldiers and the others that she had gathered for her own revolution alongside her. It wasn’t much, but it was all she had, and the soldiers were more of a symbol than anything else. _She_ had to be the one to take back her power and position, not a group of guards standing at her back. And with the plan that they had concocted so painstakingly together, she would be.

The vizer nodded once in approval, then bowed more deeply to her. It wasn’t entirely necessary after the informalities they had gone through together, but she appreciated it nonetheless. It set her mind at ease to see someone so easily recognize her authority before what she was about to do.

It would be easier if Stix were here. Everything was. But she wasn’t, and Vivia couldn’t wait any longer than she already had.

“It’s time,” Vivia said, taking a deep breath. “Thank you, Vizer. For…for everything.”

“It’s nothing, Your Majesty,” he murmured with the hints of a smile. That smile hurt a little to see—so achingly familiar, so much like Stix’s—but it comforted her just the same. “What kind of traitor would I be if I didn’t help my queen serve her country?”

She returned his smile briefly before settling her expression into cold determination. As Vaness had advised, it wasn’t a mask—in fact, it was as real as she had ever let herself be. This time she was not putting on a performance for the sake of the High Council or for her father. This was raw and honest. She needed this, and what was more, the people of her country needed this. It was high time she stopped pretending to be something she wasn’t.

So she led the way to the palace where she belonged, even if she felt out of place there. When Vivia and her entourage arrived at the entrance, the guards widened their eyes in shock but let them pass. What other choice did they have, after all? She might not have any power, but she was Serafin’s daughter and it was their jobs—and possibly lives—on the line if they failed to let her into her own home.

She passed through hallways and corridors without really registering the servants and surroundings. She had only one destination: the council meeting chamber, where all of the other vizers and, presumably, her father waited.

But Vivia paused before opening the door, her heart racing. She could show no signs of her fear once she stepped inside, but maybe she _could_ show emotions other than anger. Maybe that was what had held her back from achieving what she had wanted before.

Her fingers strayed up to touch her face, the remnants of a dying habit that her mother had taught her. She forced her hands back down, though, and forced away the desire for a mask as she did it. She could only be herself from here on out. If she was anything else, Nubrevna would be no better off under her rule than it was under Serafin’s.

For a moment, Vivia wondered if she should ask Vizer Sotar to open the doors for her and announce her presence there. It was tradition, wasn’t it, for someone else to usher the queen inside a room?

_No. _It might be tradition, but Vivia had forsaken tradition so much already that there was no sense in upholding such a small part of it now. What would Vaness do in her place? She would have already opened the doors and marched inside. The iron bracelets on her wrists were proof enough of that, that she was a servant to her people.

_And so am I._

So Vivia opened the doors.

Heads turned at the sound of her entrance, and she saw the shock in their expressions. She didn’t spare a glance for them, but merely surveyed the council table instead. It was a mess, with empty seats and mourning bands and hastily-rolled maps that seemed irrelevant to the war at hand. She supposed there had been a good deal of truth in the rumors that the High Council had fallen apart upon Quintay’s death.

Vivia strode forward to the end of the table, where her father sat. She wanted to flinch upon seeing his face again, but she managed not to, and stopped a few paces away from Serafin’s seat at the council table.

“So much chaos,” she said. Her voice was quiet, but she let it be. The rest of the room was silent, and her words carried. “The city is in shambles and the council seems even worse. I hope this means you missed me.”

Serafin raised his eyebrows, doing an admirable job of hiding his surprise at seeing her here. “Daughter.” _Daughter. _Even her name was too difficult for him to say. “What do you need?”

“I don’t need anything, Father.” She could do the same just as easily as he could. “I’ve come here to see what you refuse to see, and to give Nubrevna what it needs like you refuse to do. And I am not alone.”

“Sotar?” Eltar sputtered, focusing on the vizer and his soldiers by the door. “You stand with _her_? The council voted for His Majesty to regain power. She holds no authority now.”

But she would.

“I thought you were trying to find Stacia,” Layhar said to Sotar. Surprisingly, he didn’t sound argumentative, rather genuinely confused. “Have you determined where she’s gone?”

“I have,” Vizer Sotar replied. “And though I’m eager for my daughter to return to us, my immediate priority is doing all that I can to support the rightful queen.”

Serafin rose to his feet, meeting Sotar’s eyes with his own gaze of steel and storms. “You speak treason,” he warned. “My daughter is not the queen. The council, here, has voted and determined to transfer her power to me. You know this.”

“_Who_ voted?” Vivia interjected, knowing full well who had voted. She marched over to where Vizer Eltar sat, her strides long and steady. She noted, with satisfaction, that he leaned away ever so slightly as she approached, as though worried that she would lash out with her magic. “Frightened, Vizer?” she asked. “You shouldn’t be. You of all people have nothing to worry about—and you should know, shouldn’t you? You had nothing to worry about thirteen years ago, either.”

Eltar blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know what I mean.” Vivia had worried that this would be difficult, but on the contrary, the words poured out of her mouth and were difficult to stop. Perhaps in a different scenario she would be concerned at her having no filter, but now it seemed to strengthen her rather than hold her back. Facing the vizers was what she had been waiting for. It was _easy_. “It was you who took my mother’s power away from her, wasn’t it? Not only you, of course, but you helped convince the other vizers of your plan. Deny it.” She snapped out the last two words, her words laced with anger that was nothing like the Nihar rage. No, this was cold. This was just and it was no one’s but hers.

“The old queen was mad,” Eltar tried to justify, waving a hand dismissively as he subtly leaned away from Vivia. She only stepped closer, making it more noticeable that he was flinching. “She was unfit to rule a country that desperately needed assistance. Surely even you, a child at the time, could see that.”

Vivia hummed noncommittally, leaning forward to get closer to the table. Eltar pulled away even further, but she merely let her fingers brush the rim of his water cup, playing with it absently. She hoped the gesture seemed careless, rather than nervous. “I see you haven’t learned your lesson,” she noted before letting go of the cup and refocusing on the conversation. “_Surely_ I could see that. What of the things you could see? What of the things you did in disregard of the things you could see? In what world could it be acceptable for the fate of a queen, of an entire country, to be decided by three?”

Serafin opened his mouth to say something, but she continued speaking before he could. “Vizer Eltar,” she began, meeting Eltar’s eyes. The vizer blinked anxiously. “Vizer Quihar.” He actually turned his head to face the table, which shocked her—normally Quihar was calm and stoic. “And, of course, the late Vizer Quintay. Unfortunately, he’s no longer here to witness this…discussion.”

She saw confusion ripple across the faces of the vizers present here, and even fear in the expressions of a few. With amusement, she wondered if some of them believed her to be either directly or indirectly responsible for Quintay’s death. Ordinarily such a thought would make her panic, but not only was it an obvious lie, but there would be no proof of such a thing even if she had killed him herself. And for once, she thought that the vizers could stand to be at least a little afraid of her.

“The rest of you…well, I can’t pretend that you’re blameless,” Vivia said. “But you were led astray, weren’t you? It must have been easy to convince you that these three had your best interests at heart when you were eager for change. Only instead of stepping forward, you were led in the wrong direction. I don’t hate you for it. In fact, for all of my life, I’ve been in your position.”

“With all due respect, you’re the—you’re the—you aren’t like us,” Layhar stammered. It seemed that he didn’t know what to call her anymore. “And you never have been.”

Vivia took a deep breath. “Oh, I have, Vizer Layhar. What this council did to my mother thirteen years ago? I’ve lived it. Not just when you recently took away my authority—I’ve lived it my entire life, as the people in this very room and in the nation I’m meant to lead have tried to set me aside. And for what? For being a woman? For having a mind unlike the rest of yours? You scorn me for being different, but _this_—” she gestured around the table, at the scattered maps and flustered faces and informality of the entire council session— “_this_ is your normalcy. We need something different, and we needed it years ago.”

“Daughter,” Serafin interrupted. His voice was so gentle, so soft. It was so deceitful that for the briefest moment, Vivia tricked herself again into believing that he cared. It broke her heart all over again, another time, and she tried to mold the pain into something she could use against him. Because as always, she was mistaken, just another fool who had believed him. “Perhaps we can speak of this later, in private. It’s clear that you feel strongly about this, and I can explain all of it to you later. But we are in the middle of a meeting, and there is a war—”

“A war you are doing nothing to prevent,” Vivia cut in, her words heated and filled with far more intensity than was normal for her. She now saw what Vaness had meant, though. She was not wearing a mask, but rather revealing her true self to the council for the first time. This was no calculated rage. It wasn’t perfect, but it was honest. “Or to aid. How would the council react, I wonder, if they were to learn that their beloved king isn’t the war hero they all admire?”

Serafin’s eyes shone with fury, the condescension draining from his tone as he realized what she was about to say. “I—”

“The battle of the Hundred Isles,” Vivia proclaimed, spinning around to face the rest of the vizers. She noted, happily, that she had their full attention. “Quite possibly what earned him the respect of soldiers and commoners alike. You’ve all heard the stories—he was brave, he was fearless, he continued fighting even in spite of a potentially moral injury.” She paused for effect. _Noden and the Hagfishes ought to bend to a woman’s rule. _“The truth of the matter? It was orchestrated, all of it. Your _king_ that you love so dearly fell unconscious in moments and never kept fighting, as you were told for years. The very legends you are told are rooted in lies, and the entirety of his reign has been no better.”

“How do you know?” Quihar asked suddenly. Instead of demanding an answer, he seemed to want one. To need one, in fact, but for his own understanding rather than to prove a point.

Could this be working?

“My aunt,” Vivia explained. “The woman that most of this country labels a despicable traitor. Has it occurred to none of you why you’ve been told this? Because Evrane made no secret of the fact that she disapproves of what her brother has done. And why should she? Still…she was sent away from the capital for doing what he could not and telling the truth. What else would we know if she had stayed? What _else_ has been wrongfully kept from you for the sake of preserving his reputation?”

Silence fell around the council table.

“If I wanted to, I could drown all of you right this moment,” she continued. “But I won’t, because I don’t want to. I pity you. And after seeing the persistent lack of change, I don’t think I’m mistaken in saying that you will follow me now—unless you’re a greater group of fools than I bargained for.”

“The council has already voted and made its decision,” Serafin reminded her, each of his words clipped and angry. “And even if it had not, you hardly have what it takes.”

“I have far more than just what you see in me.” Vivia stopped to let that sink in, to let those words enter his mind and sit there and register. “As for the council, it’s hardly legal for three vizers to make the sole decision. For all of us know coercion was involved in securing the other votes. Promises of…soldiers? Supplies? Safety? It hardly matters. I invite each and every one of you on the council to look outside the windows of this palace and see the wreck of this capital city that is meant to be our pride. Who was the one who brought you here?”

She watched the vizers turn to look at Serafin. By Noden, she loved that.

“Most of you do not like me,” Vivia went on. “And none of you have to. But my father clearly does not have what it takes to lead Nubrevna through this disaster we are facing, and we need change. I will bring it, and insofar as I need you for this, you need me. For all of the faults that you have, I know your loyalty to Nubrevna, and I share it. But the longer you remain complicit in ignoring the ways to help our country, the less you abide by that loyalty. I can bring this country to the victory and respect it deserves.”

Layhar shot a nervous glance at Serafin, and then focused on Vivia once more. His gaze seemed to harden once he had done the latter, and he stood up. For a moment she worried about what he was going to do, but then he bowed deeply and rose in a salute. “I’ll do what I can to help you bring it there. Your Majesty.”

Vivia fought back a smile and simply nodded in acceptance and satisfaction. Then, in barely concealed shock, watched Quihar rise to his feet as well and copy Layhar’s movements. One of the men who had taken away all of her mother’s power and then her own, bowing before her and swearing allegiance. It wasn’t enough to make her forgive Quihar for what he had done, but it was something she had never expected to see.

One by one, the other vizers swallowed their pride and vowed to serve Vivia, their rightful ruler and queen. Some did so with more reluctance than others, and she could clearly see that many of them didn’t like it—and some probably still hated her. But she was more than what her father was, and she could do far more for them than he could. The state of the city was proof of that fact.

Serafin was, to her surprise, quiet. He stared in silent fury as he watched his own vizers bow to his daughter instead of him. “How dare you take what is rightfully mine?” he snarled in too low of a voice for anyone but Vivia to hear.

She chose to ignore the irony, and instead used his own words against him. Words designed to sound like love and words designed to hurt. “I only worry for your sake, Father,” Vivia murmured, looking Serafin in the eyes. “_I _know you are strong, but the Council does not. At least not anymore.”

She hoped those words stung just as much as they had when spoken to her. She hoped they hurt worse.

It was later on, once the guards had ensured that Serafin left the room without violence or threats that were too elaborate, that Vivia had a moment to herself. Eltar had been the last vizer to swear allegiance to her, and the sound of his pledge still rang in her ears. She’d not had the chance to even speak to Sotar after taking back her crown, but she wouldn’t have had it any other way. She had done it. She had finally done it. She needed to be alone right now.

Or maybe not exactly alone.

Vivia retrieved the Wordwitched paper that Vaness had given her, wondering—hoping—that wherever the empress was, she had hers with her as well. She might not be able to talk to the one person she wanted to, but Vaness too had helped her prepare for this. She never would have been able to face Serafin if not for Vaness’s guidance.

She set her pencil against the paper, leaving it there for a long moment before beginning to write.

_I’m the queen of Nubrevna._

The words were firm, true, perfect to read after she finished writing. And it was an hour later that she received a reply from Vaness, a whole country away but talking to her nonetheless.

It brought a smile to her face, and before she knew it she was laughing aloud. There was nothing in particular to laugh at, but she was giddy with excitement over her plan being successful and there was no one to hear her laugh. So she did, beaming like a fool upon reading Vaness’s response.

_Of course you are._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh I hope you all liked that! I've been super excited to get to write this part, hahahaha.


	36. Chapter Thirty-Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Safi and Merik separate from the others to fulfill the debt to Kahina, the rest of their friends and companions venture to the Sirmayan Mountains to free some certain people from the sleeping ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very fun to write. Hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Aeduan knew that he seemed hasty and reckless to the others, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He had gone so long in his life not knowing his half-sisters, or even knowing that they were alive—now that he had an opportunity to free them, he would waste no time in doing so. Thankfully, he wasn’t the only one so eager to get to the sleeping ice. As soon as they found the documents in the Veñaza City archives, Ryber had been desperate to get to her Threadsister and the other Sightwitch sisters who were frozen there as well. He had never expected his goals to so closely align with a Sightwitch’s, but then again, Ryber wasn’t just a Sightwitch. She was the one who had told him about Lisbet and Cora in the first place, and without her, he would not have known that they needed saving.

It wasn’t worthy of a life-debt, but certainly of a favor to be repaid. He was grateful to her, nonetheless.

He was just as grateful that they had now arrived in the Sirmayan Mountains, thanks to Kullen and the two Cartorran Windwitches who had been among their number in the group of soldiers that had joined them. Though they could have traveled there by land, it would have taken up even more precious time that Aeduan neither wanted to nor could afford to waste. He didn’t particularly like air travel, but it was better than being trapped on a ship across the Jadansi, and it was _certainly_ better than traveling by foot across Nubrevna and up to the Sirmayans.

The only people who hadn’t joined them were Safiya and Merik, who had separated from the rest to find Admiral Kahina and see what she wanted Safiya to do. Iseult had tried to insist on going with her Threadsister, but it rapidly became apparent that if she did, there would be no one to use the Threads of Sirmaya in whatever way they needed to for this. So with great reluctance and even greater worry, Iseult and Safiya had separated—at least for the moment—each warning the other to be careful and promising to do the same.

Since Safiya and Merik left, no one had mentioned them or what they were about to go and do, which was probably for the best. Iseult had been even quieter than usual, clearly anxious about her Threadsister and what Kahina would ask of her. Aeduan knew that bringing it up again would only distract her more. Kullen, too, was subdued, though he seemed less concerned than Iseult since Merik was not the one indebted to a Red Sail pirate.

They had no time to worry about the other two, though. Not now, as they stood at the entrance to the mountain with an entirely new set of misgivings: after the dismantling of the Standing Stones and the destruction that had followed, would the tunnels be stable? There was no denying that they needed to get to the sleeping ice, but none of them wanted to cause a cave-in while doing so.

“We’ll just have to see which passages seem the sturdiest, then,” Ryber said decisively, but there was still doubt in her voice. “We don’t have a choice.”

“There’s too many of us,” Stix argued. “It’ll be hard for us all to get through the tunnels, won’t it?”

Ryber nodded. “Good point. Maybe the soldiers can stay behind while we get to the ice.”

“We can stay with them,” Caden volunteered, gesturing towards himself, Lev, and Zander. “If the mountain collapses, we’ll assume that something went catastrophically wrong.”

“Or violently successful,” Alma put in. “We don’t know how it will work.”

“I’d rather the mountain _didn’t_ collapse,” Ryber muttered. “If we’ve been gone for too long, you can follow us. Unless, of course, there really has been a catastrophe.”

Short of the mountain actually crumbling around them, Aeduan wasn’t sure how the Cartorrans would be expected to know if the attempt had gone terribly wrong, but he supposed that Ryber had a point. There would be no sense in the soldiers following them if it would be detrimental or dangerous.

There wasn’t much else to say, so Aeduan and the others entered the mountain without another word. He made sure to keep Owl close at his side. The last thing he wanted was for her to wander off and get lost here.

“Are you all right?” Ryber asked concernedly, and Aeduan turned to see that Stix had brought her hands to the sides of her head, wincing in pain. _I suppose we should have bargained for this_, he thought. Being here in the mountain could not be easy for the Paladins.

“I’m fine,” Stix managed, but she looked distracted. “Let’s keep going.”

Cam looked hesitant. “Maybe you should go back, Captain,” he suggested. “Meaning no offense, sir, but…the last time you were here, it didn’t end too well.”

“I’m not foolish,” she insisted. “I won’t go wandering off. We can keep going, and I’m coming with you.”

Ryber glanced over at Kullen, then down at Owl. “What about you two?”

“I’m all right,” Kullen assured her.

“How are you feeling?” Aeduan asked Owl, crouching down to look her in the eyes. She blinked at him, tilting her head as though thinking about it, before giving him a small nod. It hadn’t been a yes or no question, but he took that to mean that she felt fine.

He straightened to his feet and gestured for Ryber to keep going.

It was a good thing, he supposed, that the mountain wasn’t affecting the Paladins—or, in Stix’s case, too badly—because they would need at least one of them to free the people trapped in the sleeping ice. Or rather, they would if Eridysi’s theory was correct, but Aeduan had no reason to believe why it wouldn’t be.

Ryber led the others, carefully picking her way through the tunnels. They kept a frustratingly slow pace, but he had to admit that it was probably necessary. There was no sense in rushing ahead when the passages were so dark and, for all they knew, could very well be ready to fall apart as soon as they entered. As much as he wanted to get there quickly, it paid to be cautious.

“Can anyone else hear it?” Kullen asked suddenly, stopping in his tracks. His eyes were closed and now he, too, was gripping his head as though it hurt.

“I can,” Stix replied, and even though she was standing right beside them, her voice was oddly distant. Like she was barely paying attention to Kullen’s words.

Owl didn’t answer, but she crowded closer to Aeduan, her hands covering her ears in an attempt to block out whatever noise the three Paladins were hearing.

“What is it?” Ryber asked. Judging from her tone, she suspected what it was, but she wanted some kind of confirmation before they decided what to do.

“Voices,” Kullen said absently. “So loud. So many of them.”

Aeduan didn’t hear any voices, but then he didn’t think that anyone really expected him to.

“Can you keep going?” Ryber persisted. “I know it must be disorienting, but if we possibly can, we need to get to the sleeping ice and free them.”

“Of course,” Kullen murmured, though he took Ryber’s hand and moved closer to her. When she looked at him questioningly, he added, “In case they try to lead me somewhere.”

With this display of logic, Alma and Cam took it upon themselves to stand on either side of Stix in case the voices caused her to wander. Aeduan bent down again, this time asking Owl in a hushed, calming whisper if he could carry her. Thankfully, she nodded and allowed him to pick her up. The already frightening idea of her getting lost in these tunnels was only made worse by the voices that the girl was now hearing.

They continued walking and, for safety’s sake, tried to surround the Paladins as best as they could. Aeduan and the others couldn’t do much against the voices that they continued to hear, so loudly that it apparently caused them pain, but they could prevent them from following them involuntarily. They came here for a reason, and they had to fulfill it.

Though he said nothing aloud as they kept walking through the tunnels, Aeduan hoped desperately that this would work and they would be able to free the people trapped in the sleeping ice. He wanted to meet his sisters, and he wanted them to be safe.

_They will be._

“The Threads are strong here,” Iseult noted. He wasn’t sure if she meant she could sense the Threads of Sirmaya, or if she was noting that everyone else’s Threads seemed brighter or more amplified here. For the girls’ sakes, he hoped for the former.

“Very,” Gretchya added.

Aeduan didn’t know what use that addition served. Perhaps Gretchya merely wanted to counter her daughter’s observation with a more precise one.

“How exactly will this work?” Lizl asked as they drew closer to the sleeping ice. “I read Eridysi’s notes, but she only mentioned Paladins and a person who can manipulate Threads. What are the rest of us supposed to do?”

“You can go back and wait with the Cartorrans if you want,” Ryber offered.

“I am not going to go back and wait,” Lizl snapped. “I was merely asking if we had a purpose here—_Captain_, where are you going?” She grabbed Stix’s wrist, tugging her back along their path instead of the fork in the tunnel that Stix—or rather, the voices in her head—seemed intent on taking.

Aeduan raised his eyebrows. “Clearly, Lizl, you have a purpose here.”

She wasn’t amused. “Herding Paladins along in the right direction through dark tunnels in a mountain? To get to a room full of ice and people I don’t know who are locked inside? It’s beneath Carawen monks like us.”

“If it’s a problem, go back with the Cartorrans.”

Lizl stopped complaining after that.

They arrived at the sleeping ice, and immediately Aeduan was even more on edge. The cavern felt so impossibly familiar to him, even though he had never been here in his lifetime, and it was more than a little unsettling. More unsettling still, though, was the dark shapes beneath the ice that he could see: he ignored the outlines of what must be the sleeping Sightwitches and focused only on the four spaces in front of him. Two were empty, but the other two…those were occupied, with the shadows of smaller figures that could only be children.

_Lisbet and Cora_.

Aeduan had never met them, but that did not mean that he wanted to see them any less. If anything, it heightened the desire to get to know the sisters he only just learned that had, and even more so, to protect them.

Iseult stepped forward, laying her hand against the ice as though waiting to feel something. After a moment, she nodded and turned to the others. “I think I’ll be able to do this,” she said, her eyes a little unfocused as though paying attention to whatever Threads she could see. “Though if Eridysi was right, we’ll need one of the Paladins to channel the power through their witchery to somehow get them out of the ice.”

Aeduan stepped back, distancing himself a little more from the others and holding Owl closer to himself. Whoever ended up doing this would be taking a risk, but it would be one that they got to choose to make. No matter what the other two Paladins wanted to do, he wasn’t going to risk the life or safety of a child. Especially not when that child was Owl.

“I’ll do it,” Kullen volunteered. “I’ve been here before, and not too long ago. It might make it easier for me to help.”

No one objected, though that might have been because to disagree would be to imply that his place should be filled instead by Stix, who was clearly not in a state to do it safely. Though Kullen was still distracted by the voices in his head, he was at least coherent enough to understand what Iseult was asking and offer to do it. Stix, on the other hand, was covering her ears and muttering to herself—or, more likely, muttering to whatever was speaking to her. She seemed vaguely aware of what was before them and what they had to do about it, but she certainly wasn’t capable of releasing people from the sleeping ice when she was like this.

“Be careful,” Ryber warned before letting go of Kullen’s hand and letting him go forward to meet Iseult at the ice. Aeduan hoped that Iseult knew what she was doing, or at the very least, that she would be able to figure it out. What was it that Eridysi’s notes had said? _You would need someone who can connect to the Threads of Sirmaya herself, in order to release the people from the ice, as well as a Paladin to channel that power through themselves in the form of their own elemental magic_. He assumed that meant Iseult would have to manipulate the Threads to, in some way, release the Sightwitches and his half-sisters from the ice—but he had no idea how she was supposed to manage that, and he knew that he would be unable to watch the process, as he could not see Threads. As for Kullen’s part of it, it seemed like he too would be unaware of what was happening until his magic, strengthened by being a Paladin, was harnessed by Iseult’s witchery.

There were too many questions and not enough answers, but they had no other option. All they could do was try what Eridysi and Sister Nadya had suggested, and hope for the best.

Iseult’s eyes were now fully distracted, and he could only assume that she was trying to decide how to begin. It would be helpful, of course, if someone here had done this before, but no one had. Before she could make a decision, Gretchya stepped forward and placed her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “You see the Threads bound to the goddess’s sleeping ice,” Gretchya said, and her voice was unusually gentle for the normally brusque Threadwitch. “Now, do you see where they connect to the Threads of the people within?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not unlike creating a Threadstone,” her mother continued. “You might not be able to do that, but the concept is similar. You do not _sever_ the Threads, but in this case, you weave them to release the people who are sleeping.”

She nodded uncertainly, and Alma joined them before the ice. “Just focus on one of them at a time, Iseult,” she added. “It will be easier that way.”

With another nod, Iseult pressed her hand against the wall of ice again, only this time she was directly in front of one of the small shadows and her free hand was moving by her side. It almost looked like her fingers were weaving invisible pieces of string, and Aeduan found himself watching, captivated, as he saw her manipulate the Threads that only she, Alma, and Gretchya could see. It seemed almost impossible that it was real, let alone so important.

Owl squirmed in Aeduan’s arms. He wasn’t sure if it was because of discomfort that she might be feeling from the voices in her head or because of what Iseult was doing, but either way, he did not know what he could do to calm her down. He, after all, wasn’t the Paladin whose senses were heightened in this place.

Suddenly, Iseult gripped Kullen’s hand tightly, tugging him closer to where Aeduan assumed was the centerpoint of the Threads. Almost instantly, the temperature of the cavern changed, growing even colder than it already had been with the ice. Wind began to whistle through the cave, at first a sharp breeze and then intensifying until it felt like they were in a storm at sea, only without the heavy rain and unsettled waves. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, as though anticipating electricity to strike the mountain. He hoped it wouldn’t. Enough could go wrong already.

Then, with a deafening _crack_ that made him briefly worry that lightning had actually struck, the ice split. Or, rather, part of it did—the outline around the figure that Iseult stood before had broken into jagged halves, leaving the rest of the ice intact and uncompromised as the winds died down. The girl inside, no longer trapped, slumped forward and Kullen instinctively caught her. Aeduan pushed past Cam and Lizl to get to her, gently setting Owl down on her feet and kneeling beside the girl.

She was so young, just a child. And yet she had been in the sleeping ice for longer than anyone else in this cavern had been alive.

Her eyes fluttered open, and after blinking confusedly for a moment, she managed to focus on Aeduan. Then she smiled at him, a tired smile that was earnest nonetheless. “I knew you would be here,” she murmured weakly, placing her small hand on top of his. Unsurprisingly, her skin was cold as ice. Her fingers trembled. “I saw it.”

_The Sight was strong in her_, Ryber had said, referring to one of the General’s daughters. The one who had been responsible for telling Eridysi and Ragnor that it was their time to go into the sleeping ice, the one who had made countless predictions that were recorded in Eridysi’s journals.

“Lisbet,” Aeduan said. How much did she know about him? How much had she seen in her prophecies? He did not know how to talk to her, even if he wished he could.

“Shh,” Lisbet whispered, even though he had only said her name. “Don’t be frightened. The flames won’t last nearly as long the next time, and they will be gone by morning. A beginning, not an ending.”

Aeduan blinked, his heart racing. He didn’t much like to think about flames in any capacity, let alone in an odd statement that was probably prophetic. Still, he would be a fool to dismiss what such a powerful Sightwitch said without further query. “What do you mean, Lisbet?” he asked gently.

“Shh,” she repeated, so quietly he could barely hear it. Her bright silver eyes stared into his, as though willing him to understand what she meant even though he didn’t. She sighed, then closed her eyes—though she seemed to be just resting, as her blood scent did not waver or give any indication that she was unwell. Aeduan supposed that he could not fault her for being exhausted after having spent so long encased in ice and separated from the rest of the world. He helped her rise into a sitting position so that she was propped up against him, leaning her head against his shoulder.

He looked up at Iseult. “It worked,” he said, stating the obvious. “She’s well. Was it too difficult for you? Will you be able to free the rest?”

“I’m fine,” Iseult replied—and, searching her face for deception, he found none. She seemed perfectly safe and healthy, nothing like when she had overexerted herself when Leopold and Arida forced her to heal the Hell-Bards. He trusted that if she thought it would be too much to continue, she would say so.

“Then please continue,” Ryber invited, not managing to keep the eagerness out of her voice. He understood her enthusiasm. Her Threadsister and other friends were here, trapped in the same ice that Lisbet had been, and now they knew for sure that they could be freed.

If anything, this time Iseult worked faster, and before long, a brief storm had torn through the cavern and Cora was released from the sleeping ice. Kullen set her down beside Aeduan, where she curled up close to him as if in a daze. As Iseult and Kullen moved to the other side of the cavern where the Sightwitches slept, Aeduan remained on the ground of the cave supporting a half-awake Lisbet, a disoriented Cora, and an anxious Owl. He was not worried about the first two, and he had decided that he would ask Lisbet more about her Sight later—now, after only just returning to the rest of the world, was not the right time. But Owl was much more temperamental, and he was still concerned about the effects that the voices might be having on her mind.

So there he remained, comforting Owl as best as he could by reassuring her that the voices would not be speaking to her for much longer. He hoped that his own words were giving her something to focus on besides what was speaking to her.

Aeduan wasn’t sure how much time passed, but he knew that he grew accustomed to the now-frequent gusts of wind that tore through the cavern and died down just as quickly as they sprung into being. Most of the time, he didn’t even look up from the children around him to see which Sightwitch had been freed—though once he had no choice but to check when Ryber let out a delighted squeal and sprang forward.

“_Tanzi!_”

“Ry,” the Sightwitch murmured, leaning heavily against her Threadsister.

Ryber hugged her tightly, holding on like she would never let go. “Are you all right? How do you feel?”

“Cold,” Tanzi said. Ryber laughed loudly, almost hysterically, and quickly took off her cloak to wrap it around Tanzi’s shoulders.

“You’re all right,” Ryber said, whether to reassure Tanzi or herself, Aeduan wasn’t sure. “By the Goddess, I’m so happy to see you again. So much has happened. There’s so much I need to tell you.”

Tanzi smiled tiredly. “Can we wait? For a few minutes, at least?”

“Absolutely. We can wait as long as you want. I’m just grateful to have you back.” Ryber led her a few steps back, leaving Iseult and Kullen enough room to continue working. “Kullen? Are you feeling well enough to keep going?”

“Of course,” he assured her—though, at least from where Aeduan could hear him, he sounded a little breathless. “And there are only about half of the Sightwitches left in the ice. This is going better than I had hoped.”

Ryber nodded, beaming in delight.

“The Sisters are returning,” Lisbet mumbled, startling Aeduan. He’d thought she had fallen asleep. “It’s beginning.”

“What is beginning?”

“The end of things,” Lisbet said, so casually and simply that it was almost intimidating. But then she gave him another small smile. “Oh, not the _final_ end of things. The end of how they are. I’ve seen it.”

He could have pressed the matter, and he wanted to, but it was probably not the wisest decision when Owl was right next to him and was already quite distressed. The last thing the girl needed right now was to hear people around her calmly discussing the end of things. “Perhaps you could tell me more about it later, Lisbet,” Aeduan told her instead. “For now, just rest. You are safe.”

“I know we are.” Lisbet rested her head against his shoulder again. “Long ago, I saw that my brother would protect us.”

_She means me_, he thought, the realization finally dawning on him as Cora’s breathing steadied beside him and she fell asleep. As Lisbet acted so comfortable around him even though they had only just met. _Aeduan_ was their brother. They were Ragnor’s daughters, his half-sisters, and they trusted him.

And it was still a strange feeling for him, but he thought he liked it.

Owl had fallen silent, seeming to have calmed down after her initial fear. Perhaps it was this silence that made it even easier to hear Lizl—or perhaps it was just the fact that she made no effort to temper her volume. “Get back here!” she exclaimed, grabbing Stix’s arm and tugging her back towards the ice. Again, she had started to drift away from the others, muttering something under her breath about going to find something.

Her distracted eyes cleared briefly. “What? I—I swear I didn’t mean to leave, I—”

“Forget it,” Lizl snapped, but she didn’t let go of Stix’s arm. “You’re not going anywhere. Apparently the others have decided you’re valuable and that you can’t go off by yourself in here.”

Stix seemed to calm down a little after that, like she had been shaken back into reality. Her eyes were still distant, and her face was still tight like she was in pain, but she stopped trying to leave and she was no longer talking to herself.

More time passed, and more Sightwitches were freed from the sleeping ice. One by one, they joined Ryber and Tanzi, greeting each other in shocked, hoarse whispers and giving each other quick explanations of what had happened while they were frozen in the ice. Aeduan didn’t realize just how much Iseult and Kullen had done until there was only one shadow left behind the ice belonging to Sightwitches who had been Summoned too soon.

Which, he realized, was a very good thing—not only for the sake of time efficiency, but because Kullen’s face was flushed and he was starting to struggle to breathe. Ryber ran up to him, placing her hand between his shoulder blades and speaking to him too quietly for Aeduan to hear from where he was sitting. He assumed, though, that she was urging him to stay calm and stop trying to use his magic.

He gestured weakly but impatiently with his hand, as if implying that he at least had to finish this first. Though Ryber protested, he continued pushing his witchery to what had to be the limits, considering the fact that the storm around them was starting to weaken, until the final tomb of ice cracked. Ryber quickly helped the Sightwitch get to Tanzi before turning back to Kullen and letting him lean on her.

“We…did it,” Kullen managed, forcing a grin.

“Why didn’t you stop to rest?” Ryber admonished, stepping back to look at him and see if he was recovering. He seemed to be, his breaths coming a bit easier already. “You should have asked Stix to take your place.”

“I’m perfectly fine, Ry,” he said—and though it had seemed worrisome at first, a few minutes later, he really was.

Aeduan awkwardly rose to his feet, helping Lisbet and Cora stand as well. They stayed close by his side, though he couldn’t say he minded. “How are you feeling?” he asked Iseult.

“Well. It was almost…almost _easy_,” she admitted, glancing at Gretchya and Alma as if she expected them to condemn her for it. When they didn’t, and went to speak to the Sightwitches instead, Iseult leaned closer to Aeduan. “But I’m worried about Safi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Hope you liked it!!
> 
> Oh, and also...the next chapter is where things start getting tense again! Can't wait for you all to see some of the things that are going to happen :)


	37. Chapter Thirty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safi goes to find Admiral Kahina so she can fulfill the debt that has to be paid. It doesn't go as planned, or expected, or hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a LONG chapter, and I can't wait for you all to read it! Around here is when the fic starts getting pretty exciting/tense, so I'm suuuper excited for everyone to see what's going to be coming up after this :D

“Remind me again why you made this deal with the admiral of the Red Sails?”

It was the first thing he had said since they arrived in the Sirmayan Mountains, and Safi was more than happy to fill the silence with conversation. Even if it was about a memory that she wished hadn’t happened. “She and her pirates had claimed the Cartorran cutter, and we needed it to leave Saldonica and go back to Azmir. She said she would fight me for it, and she let me win in exchange for a favor that I would have to repay.”

“Was the ship really worth this?” Merik pressed.

“Of course not, but it was to us then. We needed to get to Marstok, and at the time…well, I didn’t think it through.” She paused. “Is that what you wanted to hear? It was thoughtless, all right? I should have made a better bargain.”

“That’s not what I wanted to hear,” he muttered.

That stopped her from snapping back like she had been prepared to. She wasn’t sure why she had immediately been so defensive, when his question hadn’t even been phrased as an accusation. “I’m sorry. I’m nervous.”

“You probably should be,” Merik said honestly. “Who knows what she wants from you?”

He made a good point, but it didn’t make Safi feel any better.

And she wasn’t even just concerned about herself. She had already been separated from Iseult too many times, and now they had been parted again, both off to do their own dangerous tasks and make their own risky choices. She knew it was important that the people stuck in the sleeping ice were freed, but it wouldn’t be worth it if it came at the expense of her Threadsister.

Evidently, she wasn’t the only one with concerns. After a few more minutes of walking, Merik broke the silence again. “Do you think it’s going to work? Eridysi’s theory, I mean.”

“I don’t see why it won’t,” Safi replied. “I’m just worried about what it will cost.”

“So am I,” Merik admitted. “What if something happens to Kullen while he’s there? Nothing good has ever happened while he’s near that mountain. I shouldn’t be _here_ right now. I should be back there with him.”

Safi didn’t take it personally. After all, _she_ would definitely prefer to be back at the mountain as well, so that she could have stayed with her Threadsister and also so that she wouldn’t have to find Admiral Kahina.

She wasn’t exactly sure where she might be, though, which posed a problem. The mark on her thumb had started to sting back on the ship, and the longer that she went without repaying her debt, the more the sensation increased. Once they went ashore, it only intensified, and now the scar that matched Kahina’s jade ring burned and throbbed with every step.

It wasn’t just the pain, though. It was the strange force guiding her forward, northeast through the Sirmayans and in the direction of where she assumed Kahina must be waiting for her. She could not explain it, not even to Merik, who had asked about it multiple times. All she could do was keep going forward and trust, somehow, that this instinct was correct.

“So should I,” Safi agreed. “There’s…there’s a lot that could go wrong.”

She was, of course, referring to Iseult and the Paladins attempting to free the Sightwitches, Lisbet, and Cora from the sleeping ice, but that wasn’t the only thing that concerned her. After she and the Hell-Bards spoke with Leopold and Arida, she had been constantly debating with herself on how she should say something to the others. They deserved to know everything that had been discussed that day, but she had no idea how to breach the subject without someone—probably the Nubrevnans—reacting instinctively and trying to kill one or both of them.

Safi still didn’t trust Arida and Leopold, and she wasn’t sure if she would ever be able to again after everything they’d done. The Hell-Bards had even fewer reasons to trust them, and if Safi was being honest with herself, she was still surprised that Lev hadn’t killed Arida back in the cabin of the ship. Still, Safi had spoken with the three of them often since that day, and none of them knew where they should go from here. The prince and Wordwitch seemed shockingly sincere in their offers to help, but they would be fools to blindly accept any propositions from those two.

At the same time, though, they did need all the help they could get, and it was probably wiser to keep Leopold and Arida in sight than to let them go and not be able to monitor what they might be doing. So to give them time to think it over while Safi separated from the group to meet with Kahina, the Hell-Bards had promised to keep Leopold and Arida (now disguised again as glamoured Cartorran soldiers) in line when they went to the sleeping ice. Knowing their dedication, the Hell-Bards had probably remained right by their side the whole time.

Safi did feel guilty about keeping this secret from everyone else, and she had made up her mind to tell the truth about Leopold and Arida once she and Merik returned to the rest of their friends. But for now, she could only focus on the task at hand, which was even more intimidating when she still didn’t know what that task was.

The pain in her thumb suddenly flared, and that guiding feeling inside her went away abruptly. There were countless things that could mean, but she could only reasonably assume one of them.

“I think we’re here,” she announced. “Or we’re at least close.”

“I’ll stay here, then,” Merik said, remaining behind as they had agreed to on their way here. Though there might be safety in numbers, and comfort too, Merik was the prince of Nubrevna. Nothing good could possibly come of his face being recognized.

Safi nodded. “I’ll try to get away as fast as I can, or at least get a message to you so you can know where to go or how long to expect me to be gone.”

“Please do,” he replied—and again, she was shocked by how well they got along when they had both acknowledged their past mistakes. “I’ll stay here for a little while regardless, though, in case something goes wrong and we need to leave in a rush.”

“Thank you,” she said. “And thank you for coming here with me, too. I could’ve asked one of the Cartorran Windwitches, but…I’m glad it was you.”

Merik forced a smile, but he still looked nervous. “Thank me for doing this quickly so that we can get out of here and I can check on my Threadbrother. And Safi, I don’t know what she’s going to ask of you, but please be careful. Stay safe.”

“Of course.” Then, before Safi could be tempted to linger or keep talking, she took a deep breath and continued in the same direction, this time at a quicker pace.

Right when she began to get worried that she was not, in fact, close, a figure emerged from the trees. A very familiar figure, though the last time she had seen her was in the Pirate Republic of Saldonica.

Admiral Kahina stalked toward her, smiling in satisfaction. “Ah, yes. You’ve returned. And just in time, I might add. Thank you_ ever _so much for coming back to fulfill our little bargain.”

As if Safi had a choice. “What do you want?” she demanded without preamble.

“No pleasantries?” Kahina pouted. “How uncivil. All I need is a single favor.”

“Which is…?”

Kahina dropped the pretense and finally started to get to the point. “Around the corner and just past the edge of the forest is the Raider King of Arithuania, and—”

“_What?_”

“Oh, yes,” she said with a smile. “Along with most of his army.”

Oh, gods. This was bad. Safi had known that the Red Sails were loyal to the Raider King, but she hadn’t known that they were all here right now, so close to her. If she was seen by the Raider King and recognized as part of the Cahr Awen, there was no way she would be able to make it out of here alive.

Her mind was racing, trying to come up with ideas for how she could escape or find a way to not interact with the Raider King face-to-face. But first she could get as much information from Kahina as possible. “Well, what is it that you want me to do?”

“I want you to play along as I bring you to the Raider King, and tell me a few things while he speaks to us both.” Kahina’s eyes gleamed with all the severity of a predator’s. “He’s made me promises in exchange for my loyalty to him, and the support of the Red Sails, but I need to know if he intends on following through with them. I’m not going to risk myself for his sake if he won’t repay what he owes me. Also, he seems to be weakening in his resolve lately, and I need you to tell me if it’s true that he might not try to follow through on everything he’s planned.”

“Is that all?” Safi asked dryly. “How am I supposed to find out all of this?”

She waved her hand as though this was of little concern. “Figure it out. Right now he’s in a meeting with the commanders, so we might interrupt an important conversation. If we don’t, then I’ll ask him about his basic strategies and incorporate enough questions for you to find out his intentions with your Truthwitchery. Don’t think about trying to lie to me—the bond won’t let you, as you _did _promise me you’d return a favor. Signal to me as he’s speaking: blink three times in succession if he tells the truth, tap your fingers if he lies, and flex your hand if he wavers in his conviction to his cause. After you do this simple favor for me, this one time, I’ll consider the debt repaid.”

Ordinarily, Safi would admit that this was very little to ask, and certainly not half as bad as what she might have expected Kahina to demand. But to do this, Safi would need to be brought before the Raider King, and as soon as she was introduced, he would kill her.

In fact, she doubted she would be alive long enough to give the admiral any signals at all.

“When we made the deal,” Safi reminded her, “you agreed that I would not give up my own life as part of the bargain.”

Kahina blinked. “I did. And you will not be. You’ll simply be helping me decide if I need to stay loyal to the Raider King or if I need to withdraw my assistance while I still can. As for what he’ll do with you after, it really is beyond my control. He would never kill you, though. He would be _grateful_ for someone like you—a Truthwitch who can determine the real allegiance of those who work for him. You really would be quite safe.”

Safi now realized that Kahina hadn’t intended for her to be released at all afterwards, but to remain with Ragnor as his Truthwitch, to be used as he saw fit. It was hardly a fair bargain, though Safi did have to admit that it didn’t involve her own death or someone else’s. Or, at least, it normally wouldn’t, but now she knew that Kahina had no idea that she was the Cahr Awen. She clearly knew of her identity as a Truthwitch, but she did not know that the Raider King wanted her dead.

She saw no way out of this. She admittedly knew very little about how the promise she had made worked, but if it had left a physical mark on her as a reminder that she owed the debt, she doubted she would be able to simply ignore it. The best she could do, Safi supposed, was go along with it as best as she could and hope that she would be able to escape and form a better plan before Ragnor could have her killed.

It was a terrible plan, of course. But she hardly ever came up with good ones.

“All right, then,” Safi muttered, even if she didn’t have another option. “Let’s do this.”

Kahina nodded brightly, that frustrating cheerfulness settling over her face again. She led Safi into the woods and through to a large glade nestled between the trees. It was mainly occupied by groups of raiders and Red Sails, who practiced with swords and crossbows. The center of the glade was marked by the biggest of the tents, the rest of which surrounded the perimeter. All things considered, it was a very orderly camp for an army, and Safi would have almost respected it if it hadn’t been the Raider King’s.

Without stopping to talk to any of the training raiders, Kahina brought her to the command tent and guided her inside. Safi was briefly overwhelmed by how much bigger it appeared to be once she had stepped through the tent flap—a small table was constructed on one side of the tent, and the Raider King was sitting at one end of it.

His resemblance to Aeduan was truly startling. If he had been but a little taller, younger, and with paler eyes, Safi probably would have been taken aback and wondered what he was doing here and why he had misplaced his white Carawen cloak.

However, it was definitely Ragnor and not his son who looked up as the Red Sail admiral entered. “What is it?” he asked, turning away from the Baedyed commander he had been speaking with.

Safi fell silent. Perhaps he might not recognize her name. It was a foolish wish, of course, but she could do little to save herself at this point.

“I found someone who will be able to help us a great deal,” Kahina said proudly. “Someone who will be of great use to your cause, General. This is Safiya fon Hasstrel, a Truthwitch.”

She watched, with a sinking feeling, as recognition struck in Ragnor’s hazel eyes. In spite of this danger, she was immediately distracted by someone _else’s_ recognition from the other side of the tent—someone who twisted away from the maps they were holding to stare in shock at Safi.

She had been prepared for a lot of things, but not for her uncle being here.

“Safiya?” Eron asked, which was a pointless question, as it was clearly her who had been brought to the tent. “What are you doing here?”

Kahina rolled her eyes. “I already said it. She’s here to assist the Raider King with her Truthwitchery.”

She clearly wasn’t here willingly, but the other people in the tent also clearly didn’t care. Eron simply looked at his niece, speechless, while she tried to fight back harsh and angry words that would probably end up doing her more harm than good. To try to distract herself from the fact that Eron was here in the Raider King’s command tent, she studied the other occupants.

The Baedyed commander who had been talking to Ragnor before they entered looked more amused than anything by the new arrival. He surveyed her with a raised eyebrow, as though he was merely interested by her presence here. Beside him was an old Nomatsi woman in traditional Threadwitch attire, who stared down at the table in front of her and gave no indication that she saw Safi there at all.

There was also a younger Nomatsi girl who, in spite of having only been in Safi’s range of sight for less than five minutes, looked far too unwell to be given a seat at the command table where they were, presumably, planning war. Her gown seemed to hang off her body, only making it more apparent how petite and frail she looked, and the black fabric made her already pale skin look almost ghostly. The only color she showed was not in her skin or demeanor, but in the bits of string and beads tied around her long black braids. Her cheeks were hollowed and her eyes fatigued.

And then, of course, there was Ragnor himself. He had been staring at Safi as though debating what to do with her, and she met his gaze defiantly. Would he try to kill her right away, or go along with Kahina’s suggestion first?

“Where did you find her?” he asked the admiral, tearing his gaze away from Safi.

“Just outside our camp,” she told him. “And, of course, I thought that someone like her could be _very_ helpful for your plans.”

“She could,” Ragnor admitted, surveying them both warily. “But it would be difficult to prove that her own words are the truth. How could we trust her word?”

Kahina dipped her head in acquiescence. “You make a good point. And, of course, it’s prudent to be suspicious when it’s of the utmost importance that we win the upcoming battles.”

“Of course,” he agreed, though his words began to grate against Safi’s Truthwitchery. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. She flexed her hand, and in her peripheral vision, she saw Kahina’s eyes follow the small movement.

“But, General, it might be wise to keep her here just in case she’s needed,” Kahina continued. “We have no way of foreseeing what might come, and a Truthwitch on our side could be the surprising ally that will have us winning this war.”

“She should stay,” the Nomatsi girl said, her voice soft and almost childish, though she wasn’t _that _young. “The admiral is right. We could use her, couldn’t we?”

Ragnor sighed. “What would be the point of using her if we can’t ensure that she’s telling the truth to _us_?” he asked. “It’s not worth it, Esme.”

_Esme?_ This small, sick girl was the Puppeteer they all feared? Safi knew that physical health wasn’t much of an indication of how powerful a person was with Threads, but she hadn’t expected Esme to be so quiet and ill-looking.

“At least consider it,” Kahina requested. “After all, we must do all we can to defeat the empires—and, if for no other reason, we can keep this weapon out of their hands.”

Safi hated being referred to as a weapon, but she did understand Kahina’s point. It made sense for the raiders to want Safi, if only so that no one else could capture her.

“Of course we must. Make no mistake, Admiral, we _will _topple these empires, no matter what the cost.” It was a bold statement, and it was a thorough lie. Before Safi could take the time to decipher why he would tell that falsehood, her fingers were tapping against her thigh while she flexed her other hand to signal to Kahina.

“I agree wholeheartedly,” the admiral said.

Ragnor nodded. “But what I do not understand is why it’s of such importance to you.”

“I have just as much at stake here as you do,” Kahina reminded him. “If not more, as I have my Red Sails who have also pledged allegiance to your cause. It’s in my best interests to make sure that our strategies are as successful as possible—unless, of course, the terms of our agreement have changed?”

“No,” Ragnor immediately replied, and Safi immediately blinked three times. That, at least, had been the truth. “They haven’t, and I appreciate the help you’ve been providing. As for this Truthwitch…I’ll consider it.” _That _certainly wasn’t the truth, but it wasn’t an outright lie either. Perhaps he would consider how quickly to kill her. Either way, it wasn’t a commitment, and she flexed her hand.

Kahina seemed to sense that she couldn’t press the matter and expect him to change his mind, so she just inclined her head. “A wise decision, General.”

“Yes, yes. Is there something else you need?”

“No,” the admiral murmured, the image of civility now that she had gotten the information that she wanted from Safi. The pain in her thumb slowly drained away until she felt nothing there at all, and she knew the debt had been fulfilled. If only it hadn’t come at the cost of her freedom and, possibly, her life.

She thought of Merik, waiting for her outside the command tent and the glade just beyond it. She thought of Iseult, her Threadsister, in the same mountain range as she was but so hopelessly far away. She wanted nothing more than to be with her.

“Hasstrel,” Ragnor ordered. “Escort your niece to one of the supply tents as I make my choice.”

Eron nodded once and marched up to Safi, gesturing for her to follow. Seeing no other option when there were so many raiders and Red Sails outside, she complied.

She hoped that he wouldn’t try to talk to her as they left. She didn’t know if she would be able to handle that.

Of course, she had no such luck.

“Safiya,” her uncle hissed. “What are you doing here?”

“You saw for yourself,” she returned. “Kahina and her Red Sails captured me and brought me here.”

He sighed sharply, like he didn’t believe her. “You overestimate yourself,” Eron warned. “You are trying to do something. I can see it. I do not think you’re aware of just how much the Raider King is capable of.”

“Then why don’t you tell me, Uncle?” Safi asked, tired of his double meanings and word games. “Moreover, why do you care? Why would you not _let_ me try to accomplish something against the Raider King and watch me fail?”

“Must you really ask?” Eron took her arm now to guide her past clusters of Red Sails sparring with each other. “I know you hate me. You have for most of your life, and you don’t do much to hide it. But I don’t hate you—far from it, in fact—and I want you to be safe.”

Safi actually laughed. “If you wanted me to be safe, you would have helped me get away from Henrick without setting me up into a new dangerous situation. And you certainly wouldn’t be working with the Raider King.”

“It’s not that simple. You see—”

“It _is_ that simple. The Raider King is trying to kill the Cahr Awen. You heard me back there: he wants me dead. And if you work with him willingly, then you want that too.” She couldn’t stop the words once they had begun. In spite of her rightful anger against him, it felt surprisingly good to confront him over it.

Eron was silent for a few paces, and she began to wonder if he was just ignoring her. Then: “I do work with him, though I never said that I work with him willingly.”

Safi stopped walking, devoting her full attention to what her uncle had just said. No, not just what he had said—what she had felt as he said it. Her Truthwitchery had detected nothing but honesty in his words, but that was impossible. It was rare indeed that she could sense the truth, or lack thereof, in what he said, and those dew times that she could were always when he removed his noose. A simple glance now revealed that he was still wearing the chain.

“What is going on?” she asked with a pointed look at his noose. “How can my magic work on you right now?”

Eron took off his chain in one fluid motion, tucking it in his pocket with a shrug that added to his nonchalance in the gesture. She stared at him, trying to make sense of it. When Caden had taken off his noose in Saldonica, it had nearly killed him. Darkness had surrounded him in the form of wispy shadows while he gasped in pain and begged Vaness to release him. Now? Now, Eron seemed exceedingly casual, as if it didn’t matter that he had just removed the Hell-Bard noose.

Slowly, an explanation began to dawn on Safi. Caden, Lev, and Zander were living proof of the fact that the Hell-Bards could be healed, and so were all of the others that Iseult had been forced to restore in Praga. They sometimes still wore their golden chains, whether out of habit or for the sake of being underestimated, Safi wasn’t sure. But she did know that if they did take off their nooses now, they suffered no ill effects.

Iseult had managed to heal them, back in that cave in the middle of the Orhin Mountains. But she wasn’t the only person with the ability to manipulate Threads, which was made apparent by the existence of the Puppeteer sitting beside Ragnor during the meeting.

“Esme,” Safi said. “She restored your Threads, didn’t she?”

“She did,” Eron admitted. “In return for my allegiance to the Raider King and as much assistance for his cause that I could give. With my low status, though, that isn’t much. I think he is running out of uses for me.”

“I sympathize. You know, if he was really running out of uses for you, I would think that you _wouldn__’__t_ return to him immediately after we rescued you from Henrick and saved your life.”

Eron sighed again, though he sounded more tired than exasperated this time. “How was I supposed to know what your intentions were? You had just helped me escape, yes, but you were also surrounded by Nubrevnans, and Empress Vaness was there too. For years, they’ve been the enemy.”

“Only because they are the Raider King’s enemy,” she reminded him. “You know that joining him was your choice. And if you think that my intentions towards you would be anything but helpful, you don’t know me.” Safi hated how true that was. No matter what Eron did, it seemed, she would continue to defend him and want the best for him.

“What of _their_ intentions?” he pressed. “I knew that the empress would have found out who orchestrated the attack, and she isn’t the forgiving sort. I know it disappoints you, Safiya, but my integrity is not worth my life. At least not to me.”

There was something infinitely confusing and paradoxical about those words being spoken by Eron—Eron, who had spent so much time trying to reclaim his honor. Safi supposed that chasing after respect and dignity was very different from demanding it in the face of an imminent and deadly threat.

Eron continued guiding her forward, having evidently decided that they had stood there motionlessly conversing for long enough. He led her to a smaller tent off towards the edge of the woods, mostly concealed by the trees. It was presumably where Ragnor wanted her to stay while he decided what to do with her.

Safi didn’t know what she could possibly do to escape this place. There were too many raiders and Red Sails surrounding her here, and if she was caught while trying to get away, they would have no qualms about killing her on sight. At the same time, though, she would not sit here quietly waiting to die.

She was so absorbed in these thoughts that she didn’t notice that Eron still had opened the tent. So she latched onto what he had said before, snapping against it. She couldn’t change him, but perhaps her words could still hurt him. “What about my life?” Safi demanded. “Is that worthwhile to you?”

“Safiya, don’t.” So it _did_ hurt him. “I told you. It isn’t that simple.” Now he reached for the tent flap, so she stepped in front of him to block it from his reach. It was petty of her, but at least it forced him to look into her eyes.

“If I stay here, I will die,” Safi said plainly. This underestimated her own ability of escaping, of course, but acknowledging that would do nothing to prove her point. “He wants me dead, and you already know that. Do you really think that being within his easy reach is going to make him change his mind about me?”

“I wouldn’t let him kill you,” Eron swore. “I promise you that.”

“And how would you stop him?” she countered. Good. He was getting upset. “Tell me, how would you stop Esme from cleaving me and forcing me to join her army of puppets? How would you stop the Red Sails from murdering me as soon as the Raider King gave them the order? Considering their vow to kill all Cartorrans they come across, they would probably be happy for the excuse.”

Eron took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t let him kill you,” he repeated. “You’re the only family I have left.”

“Of course,” Safi noted with fake confidence. “Because you’re capable of so much. You’ll be able to defy the Raider King himself and fight off all of his soldiers just for my sake.” She paused, letting that careless façade drop away. “Call it what you like, Uncle. But don’t try to lie and convince me that it’s anything other than letting me be killed. After all, you can’t trick a Truthwitch.”

Her uncle went quiet, and she made no effort to fill the silence. She would wait for him to find the words to respond. While she waited, she studied him for any signs of what he might do or say. She looked into his eyes, so familiar from her childhood and yet still so different. They were the same light blue that she remembered, but they were no longer dulled and bloodshot, no longer filled with that cloudy haze that the wine had always given him. Or, perhaps, that Safi had always _thought_ it gave him. It turned out that he had misled her all of those years, growing up.

She supposed that he really had fooled her, but no one would anymore.

“Step away from the tent,” Eron said softly, giving no indication that he had listened to what she said, or that it had mattered at all.

Safi wanted to hold on to her carefully crafted indifference, but the truth was that she was tempted to stay right where she was and lean back and let herself release the tears she had been holding back for so long. Because with that one sentence, and with everything along with it that he hadn’t said, her uncle had proven himself a liar again—only now, there would be no coming back from it. This time, Safi would learn.

“I guess you really can trick a Truthwitch,” Safi murmured. “I believed you when you said you wanted to keep me safe. I believed you when you said you cared.”

“_Step away from the tent_,” Eron repeated, more harshly this time. So she did, moving aside so he could reach the flap. If she hadn’t been able to persuade him with those words, she didn’t know what else she could do.

As soon as the tent was open, her uncle shoved her inside, and Safi stumbled forward in shock by how roughly he’d pushed her. Or by the fact that he had pushed her at all. He hadn’t shown any signs of aggression in the conversation up until now.

Once Eron had scanned the tent and made sure that they were alone, he grabbed Safi by the shoulders with all the resolve of the soldier that he used to be. She wrenched away from his grip, not prepared to go along with anything until she at least had an explanation for his current behavior.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” Eron said, quietly even though there hadn’t been anyone else in the immediate area of the tent. Then again, she assumed that before long, there would be raiders posted to guard around where she was staying. Ragnor wasn’t an idiot.

“What do you mean?” Safi asked. She knew exactly what it sounded like, but he hadn’t seemed eager to help her before.

“I couldn’t exactly start an escape plan while anyone could have been listening to us,” he reasoned. “We don’t have time to waste. I’m _not _letting the Raider King kill you,” he added in a fierce whisper.

She let out a disbelieving laugh. “And I’m supposed to believe this?”

“Yes,” Eron told her simply. “You are. I’m risking everything for this, and we won’t have another chance. Now, listen to me and do as I say, or this could all go wrong.”

Safi didn’t have much time to deliberate whether or not he could be trusted. All of her logic told her that he couldn’t, that whatever he wanted to do would probably end up with her in even more trouble regarding the Raider King. But she also didn’t know how much worse this situation could get, and the look of cold determination on her face was enough to convince her that he was serious.

“All right,” she muttered.

“You didn’t come here alone, did you?” Eron asked immediately, without any sign of relief that she had agreed. As if he knew that she would.

Briefly, she worried about what might happen if she was wrong about her uncle again and if he knew that Merik was here with her. But she didn’t have time to think about consequences. “No. A Windwitch brought me here,” she explained, leaving out the royal identity of said Windwitch.

“Are they far away?”

“Not very. He’s waiting for me back where I found Kahina. Only a few minutes away from here.”

Eron nodded. “Perfect. To the southwest, then?”

“Yes. But if I try to run now, there’s no way I’ll be able to get out without being noticed by Ragnor’s soldiers.”

“Probably,” her uncle admitted. “But I’ll do what I can to make sure you’re not. Here—” he stopped abruptly, moving to the corner of the tent where a saddlebag lay on the ground. He reached into it, taking out a long white cloak and a Baedyed belt. “Take this. It’s not much for a disguise, but it’s all we have, and it’ll at least distract the others long enough for you to get away. As it is, you’re conspicuous. This will help.”

Safi slipped on the cloak, buckling on the serpentine belt over it so it was visible and also to keep the fabric closed. Eron was right. It was a pathetic disguise, and she was clearly not one of the Baedyeds, but she didn’t see another option.

Eron handed her a cutlass, which she gratefully accepted. She felt more comforted by that cutlass than her hasty approximation of what a Baedyed would look like. “In case it comes down to a fight. I hope it won’t. Now, Safiya, _wait here_ while I scout ahead. As soon as I give the signal that no one is in the way or watching, run southwest to get to that Windwitch and don’t look back. I doubt I’ll be able to save you twice.”

There were a thousand things Safi could have said, but she didn’t have the time for it, and she didn’t have the words for it either. So instead she just nodded and watched as he slipped back through the tent flap. And then she waited.

It had only been a few minutes when Eron burst back into the tent, out of breath and with wild eyes. “Forget about the signal. We need to get out of here, _now_.”

“We?” Safi asked, but her uncle was already herding her outside.

“Yes, I’m coming with you. Now come on!” He pushed her into the trees, following close behind. She knew that his urgency had to be warranted, so she didn’t stop to ask what he had seen while he was scouting or why it was so important that they immediately leave without more strategizing first. It occurred to her that Eron would see Merik once they got to their destination, and that he would recognize him as the Nubrevnan prince—but at the moment, when they were running for their life, Safi found that it wasn’t as much of a priority as it had been.

Branches snapped under her feet and ripped at her cloak as she sprinted through the forest, but she ignored the sensation. She ignored everything except for getting back to where Merik was waiting for her. And, as it became more impossible to ignore, the footsteps behind them that were growing louder and closer with each step.

Safi didn’t look behind her, but she knew their pursuers were closing in. Then, with the sound of a crossbow bolt being drawn, Safi dropped to the ground instead of diving to the side. She didn’t know where they were aiming, after all, but she doubted it was at the earth.

A small grunt beside her made her neck twist up so quickly that she nearly hurt herself, and she looked just in time to see Eron fall, a bolt from the crossbow in his back.

She clamped her mouth shut to stop herself from screaming out his name, instead trying to hide herself in the low shrubbery so the person who shot her uncle could not find her. Eron wasn’t dead yet—she could hear him breathing not too far away from her—but crossbow bolts were sharp, and his pained gasps sounded wet enough to suggest that one of his lungs had been pierced. He wouldn’t be breathing for much longer.

Safi fought to ignore those horrified thoughts, those desperate voices inside her that said her uncle _couldn’t_ be dying, not here, not now. She couldn’t afford to focus on that when she needed to focus on survival.

She needed to get out of here, needed to run, but unless she waited, she would be running right into the path of the person who had just shot Eron. Then she would be dying, too.

More agonizing seconds passed as she waited for some movement from the raider, and Eron’s breathing stopped.

It took all Safi had not to fall apart right where she was. After all of the mistrust and favors and confused agreements, Eron fon Hasstrel was dead.

Someone stalked forward, lowering their crossbow and looking down at Eron as though to ensure that he wouldn’t be getting back up. Though it hurt Safi to leave him there, it would hurt worse for his attempt to be in vain. So she pushed herself up, remaining low so as to not be seen between the trees, and fled while the raider was distracted.

She didn’t stop running until she had made it back to the edge of the forest, where Merik was still waiting. He seemed shocked that she was back already, but when he saw how fast she was running, he immediately tensed. “What’s wrong?”

“Later,” Safi gasped. She was breathless, she was exhausted, and she was shaking with anger or grief or some confusing combination of the two. She didn’t have the time for explanations. “We need to leave, right now.”

“All right,” Merik said. He still looked confused, but was at least more motivated now that he saw her urgency. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close as wind began to swirl around them and lift them off their feet. He was still clumsy when traveling through the air, but that was better than waiting around to eventually be captured by the raiders.

At some point as they were flying across the Sirmayan Mountains, tears began to stream down Safi’s face. It could hardly even be considered crying. Her breaths were even, not shaky, and her shoulders did not tremble with sobs as they always did when she was driven to the point of tears. The longer they flew, the more convinced she became that this was not anger. This was not grief, either. It was something raw, broken, honest.

All of her living family was now gone. She had no more blood relatives. The last remaining one had been Eron fon Hasstrel, and he was now lying dead in the forest that they had just left behind. Dead because he had defied the Raider King and tried to help _Safi _get away.

It shouldn’t hurt this much. She had hated him for almost all of her life, and he had betrayed her so many times, using her trust and then violating it time and time again. But in the end, he had helped her. In the end, at least he had tried.

Now she really was crying, but with the wind whistling so loudly around them, she doubted Merik could hear. And that was fine. That was perfectly all right. He needed to pay attention to flying, anyway, and to steering them in the right direction.

But she didn’t want to _have _to pay attention to any of that right now. The mark on her thumb was no longer burning, and her debt to Kahina had been repaid, but at what cost? Safi might not have given up her life to the admiral, and she might not have killed anyone either, but someone’s life had still been the price to pay. And it had been Eron’s.

Gods, she wanted Iseult to be here. She wanted to be embraced by her Threadsister and be reassured in Iseult’s quiet, steady voice that Safi had done the right thing in fleeing when she had and that they would get through this together, like they always did.

Iseult wasn’t here, though, even if she would be soon. So for now Safi let her tears fall and hugged Merik even tighter—and though he didn’t say anything, he seemed to realize that she was at least distressed over _something_ and he clasped her more securely in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to spoil the next chapter too much, but also...Vix


	38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vivia and Stix reunite!! Safi and Iseult do too, and Safi begins to tell her Threadsister and the others about the secret that the and the Hell-Bards have been keeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading this!!! You are all awesome!!!

The Sirmayans were nothing like the Orhins, but after what had happened in the Cartorran mountains, Vivia still hated being here. Every cold and harsh wind reminded her of being kidnapped by a Cursewitch in the middle of the woods, and each higher altitude reminded her of the blinding storms that only made her feel even more alone and isolated.

_So far away from home._

“Not anymore,” she told herself. She couldn’t afford to think like that. These were not the Orhin Mountains, and she had a job to do. Her country was going to war.

It was no secret that hostilities had been on the rise between all of the empires, and likewise, the rumors that the Cartorran army was rapidly approaching the Sirmayan Mountains and the region above the Contested Lands were taken more as fact than gossip now. Considering the placement of the Raider King’s stronghold, and the latest intelligence from Vivia’s forces, the army of raiders was also converging in on the region. There would be bloodshed, and soon—but she was going to fight for what was rightfully hers, and that included what was Nubrevna’s.

Luckily, they wouldn’t be alone. Vaness had been communicating with her through the Wordwitched paper, and the Marstoki army too was arriving soon. Nearly all of the major countries and empires would be represented on the battlefields before long, as the Great War was rekindled in earnest. Vivia only hoped that she would emerge on the winning side of it.

“Did you say something, Your Majesty?” a general asked her, stepping forward as though to hear better.

It occurred to her that she had spoken out loud. “Nothing important, General. Thank you for your diligence.”

He nodded once and dropped back into formation.

Vivia lost track of time as they continued their march through the mountains. It was slow, but it made a statement—and the army trailing behind her made one as well. So did the people that weren’t a part of it, she decided, as she thought of her father still in Lovats.

_The people will not rally to fight behind someone who was on death’s doorstep not too long ago_, Vivia had told Serafin flatly. _They’ll rally behind someone who has enough life and spirit to continue leading them even through a war. You will stay behind in the capital while we march, and that is an order from the queen._

“Sir!” The call came from one of her scouts, running up to where she stood at the front of the soldiers. The boy arrived, breathless from the hurry, and nearly tripped over himself trying to bow and salute before continuing. “Captain Sotar. She’s here, just ahead. I’d thought she had gone missing, sir, but turns out she’s just up here. Do we keep going forward, or wait for—”

“Wait,” Vivia ordered, her heart racing. Stix was here? They had made it across the Jadansi, it seemed, and not only was she back on land but she was _here_. So close to Vivia. So within reach.

The boy blinked at her, whether at confusion at the order or at being interrupted, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t care. “General,” she barked, and the man from before stepped forward.

“It seems that we’ve found Captain Sotar,” Vivia told him, fighting to keep her voice even and free from too much excitement. “Give the order to wait while I go meet with her. This is nonnegotiable,” she added, as he began to protest that they could keep marching.

She took quick strides, outpacing the young scout and eventually leaving him behind. Her lungs burned with each inhale as she kept up the pace on an uphill slope ahead. When she got to the top, she realized that she wasn’t alone. She wasn’t the only person here, and she had never been happier for it.

There she was—Stacia Sotar, the best friend she had been separated from for far too long, the one she had worried over and thought about constantly while she was away. So much had changed, but as their eyes met, she could see that Stix hadn’t.

She took one step closer to Vivia, that familiar long stride, and then crushed her in an embrace. Vivia didn’t let herself listen to that voice inside of her that said to keep her distance, and she returned the embrace with all of the pent-up emotion that she had kept within for so long.

Vivia had been so stupid, so _foolish_ to keep isolating herself from the one person she considered a real friend, and one of the few people who truly cared. From this moment forward, it wasn’t a mistake she would make again.

“You’re all right,” she murmured, mostly to reassure herself that all of her worrying had been for nothing. “You’re safe.”

“Always,” Stix replied. She pulled away with that crooked smile that Vivia knew and recognized so well. Before she could ask what she was doing, her captain and friend was raising her hand in a salute and inclining her head. “Your Majesty.”

It sent the same thrills through her body that it normally did to be addressed so, but this time it felt dulled, muted. She was touched to see how much Stix respected her, of course, but the tone of deference being used in such a private moment didn’t feel right. It seemed to put up a boundary between them, and Vivia had just vowed to herself that it would never happen again.

So she waved her hand to dismiss the salute, gently so it wouldn’t seem like an order, and then hugged her even tighter. “No ‘Your Majesty.’ Let us have this.”

Vivia felt rather than saw the smile that followed, felt Stix’s lips tug upwards against the side of her hair as she bent down slightly into the embrace. “My Queen, then?” she asked lightly. “Sir?”

Ordinarily she would have given a legitimate answer, but she could tell by Stix’s voice that she was only teasing. Still, Vivia drew away if only so that she could look her friend in the eyes and truly take her in. She was safe. She was _here_.

For a long moment, they simply stood there looking at each other. Her dark eyes stared into hers, and Vivia was struck nearly speechless by how wide they were. She was so used to seeing Stix from a distance, or at least when she was looking at something far enough away for her to be squinting to see properly. Now, though, she was only looking at Vivia. Now, all Vivia could see were those eyes.

At some point, Stix’s hand had come up behind Vivia’s neck. She hadn’t been aware of it as it happened, but now she felt the warmth against her skin with more clarity than she felt the cold mountain air around her. She was so close now. Her thumb brushed against Vivia’s jaw, and she thought that her breathing might have stopped.

“Whatever happens after this,” Stix whispered, “I’m happy that we’re together again, Vivia.” She loved the sound of her name being spoken in that hushed murmur—no, the sound of her name being spoken by Stix at all. It was just a name, but it was much more of that, and it felt oddly personal.

Vivia didn’t know how to respond, but it turned out that she didn’t have to. Stix leaned even closer, until their faces were mere inches apart. “Viv?” she breathed. It was a question just as the other names and titles she had given were, but this was a very different one, and had a very different—and more definitive—response.

She dipped her head once, a tiny nod that was enough to answer without slipping away from Stix’s hand cupping her face. And with another smile, Stix bridged the already-small gap between them in a sweet and gentle, ever so gentle, kiss.

_Maybe…maybe I’m good enough for her._

Stix drew back slightly, making eye contact with Vivia again and not looking away. Those dark, wide eyes were transfixed by her. “I’ve never seen you look like this,” she murmured wonderingly. “So unapologetically happy.”

It was reckless of Vivia to be so fearless in showing her true feelings, but she didn’t care, not when she was with the one person that she would easily trust with her life. And _certainly_ not when they had been reunited in the best of ways, here before the battles began and in each other’s arms with all the time in the world to feel safe. She had almost lost Stix, and almost been lost to Stix, too many times for her to let this moment go. She was done with being sorry for expressing herself and being the little fox she was meant to be.

“What is there to apologize for now?” she asked honestly, looping her arms around Stix’s neck and pressing closer to her. She wanted to hold her friend, wanted to be held, wanted to be as close to her as possible to make up for the time they’d lost. “And we might be about to enter into a war again, but I think we have enough reasons to be happy.”

Stix hugged her back, her hands so familiar and comforting around Vivia’s waist. “We do,” she agreed. “And I’m so glad that you’re back here with me. But…you’re like you were that day in the under-city, and down in the dungeons of Praga. You’re _yourself _right now. You seem freer than you’ve ever been.”

“I feel that way too,” Vivia confessed, not pausing to filter her words or neutralize her expression. It was a struggle to break that habit, but it was a worthwhile one. “I never thought I’d be ready to face him. I never thought I’d _have_ to face him, if he really wanted what was best for me, but he didn’t. And what I want is the best for Nubrevna, so I had to take it.”

“They don’t deserve you,” Stix said quietly in her ear, “but they do need you.”

Vivia almost led herself down that same road of self-doubt again, almost repeated what she had said down in the dungeons back in the Cartorran capital. _I don’t deserve to have a friend like you_. She was more used to feeling that way than she was used to letting herself feel anything else, and uncertainty was a difficult tradition to break.

But then she remembered what Stix had said response to her in Praga, and her heart felt lighter. _Don’t ever say you aren’t enough_.

Even Jana had said it, in the dream she’d had when she was Corlant’s prisoner. Perhaps she had said it to her daughter when she was still alive, too, but to Vivia it was nothing more than a memory from when she’d been sleeping. _You are just as strong as the others_, her mother had said. _Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise._ Vivia had been acting as strong as the others for years—she had been acting _stronger_—and the only person left with the authority and audacity to tell her otherwise was herself. She had enough enemies without making herself one too.

So instead of disputing the point, of debating whether she was really better than what her country deserved and whether she was really the best queen they could have, she told Stix more of the truth. The words felt so fresh and genuine coming from her mouth.

“And I need _you_,” Vivia told her, holding on even tighter. “I’m doing what I can, but…please stay.”

“Forever,” Stix promised, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.

They stayed like that for another long moment, quiet and close and enjoying each other’s presence. Finally, logic overpowered Vivia’s sentiment and she knew that she would have to return to where everyone else must be waiting for Stix to go back. She wanted to make sure that Merik had stayed safe, and Ryber and Cam and all of the others who had gone on to Veñaza City while she left to reclaim the throne of Nubrevna. Not to mention the preparation for battle and, if all went well, Vaness’s return with her own army.

Reluctantly, she pulled away and this time put a little distance between them. “The others are probably waiting,” she said.

Stix nodded. “I’ll go back and tell them you’ve arrived. You probably need to go back to your generals if you want—”

“The generals can take care of themselves for a few hours,” Vivia interrupted. “They’ve done it often enough. I want to go with you to meet with everyone else. If you want to show me the way?”

She stared for a long moment, and then smiled again. It was the fourth so far today, but Vivia knew that she would never grow weary of seeing that smile. Stix took her hand in her own, squeezing her fingers tightly. “I’d like that.”

Iseult was more than a little relieved when Safi and Merik returned from wherever they had gone to fulfill the debt with Kahina. Though she had expected them to be away for longer, what had truly concerned her was the blinking of her Threadstone that signaled a dangerous situation for her Threadsister. In a separate part of the Sirmayan Mountains and with no way of determining what kind of peril Safi was in, Iseult had felt utterly helpless as she watched the flashing light finally extinguish.

It could mean, of course, that Safi had gotten out of whatever danger she’d been in and was now perfectly safe. But it could also mean something very different.

She didn’t let herself dwell on the possibilities. She _couldn’t_, at least not without breaking the barriers of that Threadwitch calm she had cultivated. But nonetheless, she was unspeakably relieved when she saw two figures flying through the air in their direction, first noticed by Aeduan with his Bloodwitchery as they approached.

They landed ungracefully, with far too much force. It pitched them forward and they both crumpled to the ground in an undignified heap. Merik was the first to push himself to his feet, and he offered Safi a hand to help her rise too. She didn’t accept it, and stood up by herself as she quickly surveyed her surroundings.

Iseult ran forward to greet her Threadsister, quickly scanning her for visible injuries. She appeared to be unhurt, but her eyes gleamed with something that looked like more than just indignation at having to go across the mountain range to do someone a favor. Her face was damp, as though her skin had been wet and she’d hastily wiped away the moisture with her sleeve before arriving. Iseult knew that it wasn’t rain.

“Saf!” she exclaimed, looking her Threadsister in her sparkling blue eyes. “What happened?”

“Iz,” Safi muttered before pulling her into a hug. She held on almost desperately, clinging to Iseult like she was the only thing keeping her from drowning in the Jadansi. Her Threads were subdued, a confusing combination of grief and frustration and confusion that seemed to reach down to her soul.

“What’s wrong?” Iseult asked, instantly on edge.

Safi let go of her, stepping back a pace so she could make eye contact again. She had never seen her Threadsister look quite so weighed down, at least not by these strange mingling Threads that seemed—judging by the dull look in her eyes—to be making her more exhausted than anything else. She didn’t seem to be wounded, but she hadn’t emerged unscathed, that was for sure.

“My uncle is dead,” she said finally. “Kahina brought me to the Raider King, and we spoke to him, and then my uncle helped me escape because we knew that the Raider King would try to kill me if I stayed. He…he didn’t make it,” she finished simply.

Iseult fell silent as she processed this. She had only briefly met Dom fon Hasstrel in person, and admittedly she had thought very little of him even before they were betrayed back in Cartorra. But she knew that he had always had a conflicting relationship with his niece, and that him turning against them had hurt Safi more than she’d been willing to admit earlier. Him helping her now before his death couldn’t be easy for her to accept.

“Will you be all right?” Iseult asked gently, dozens of other unspoken words trailing behind that. _I’ll be here for you until you are, and even after. Always. Threadsisters to the end._

“I will be,” Safi admitted, taking a deep and steadying breath. “It…it shouldn’t have hit me this hard. That was probably the first and last really selfless thing he ever did. I guess I hoped that maybe once he agreed to help me get away, once he said that he was coming with me, things might change.” She laughed bitterly. “I guess that’s what I get for hoping.”

“No,” Iseult murmured. “It’s not your fault for hoping. I think he was a little too far gone, Safi. He did something right at the end, and you’re safe, which is what he would want.”

Safi nodded. “Maybe. I’m not sure. We can’t deal with it now, in any case. We need to keep going.” Iseult could have pressed the matter, but she could tell by Safi’s determined Threads that she wanted to be distracted by whatever else was going on around them. She hadn’t been paying attention to it, but Merik was embracing Kullen and seeming to give him a quick explanation of what had happened while they were away.

“All right,” Iseult acquiesced. “We freed the Sightwitches, Lisbet, and Cora from the sleeping ice, though you can probably tell.” She gestured to the side of the group, where Ryber stood talking to her Threadsister and the other Sightwitches. Even though they had exited the mountain and were now outside, Aeduan was still surrounded by Owl, Cora, and Lisbet. The former had always felt more comfortable around him in any case, and the latter two seemed disinclined to leave his side since leaving the ice.

“You’re safe?” Safi checked. “You were able to do it with your Weaverwitchery?”

“I was, and it went very smoothly. It was closer to being unsafe for Kullen than it was for me, but even he is completely fine. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” She gestured towards the others again, indicating their safety and well-being. “Though there is something strange that we need your help with.”

Safi’s eyes widened as though eager for something to do to occupy her thoughts. “Yes?”

Iseult beckoned for her to come with her as she led her Threadsister back to where the Cartorran soldiers stood apart from the rest of the group, mainly keeping to themselves. She stopped in her tracks before they got within hearing distance of the Cartorrans. “Once we got out of the mountain, some of the soldiers were acting strangely. One kept wandering around, looking distracted, almost like the Paladins do when they’re close to the blade and glass. Only he _can’t_ be a Paladin, that’s ridiculous.” She shook her head. It had been confusing her ever since it initially happened, but until now it had gone without explanation. “And another was trying to guide him back. Ever since, the Hell-Bards haven’t let them out of their sight and they won’t tell us what’s going on.”

“Oh,” Safi said. This time her Threads flared with understanding. “They didn’t explain?”

“No. They said they would wait for you to come back, because you knew it too.”

Safi bit her lip, then took another deep breath. “I’m sorry. I should have told you all before I left, but, well…things happened really suddenly, and we didn’t have time aboard the ship. Then once we arrived ashore I had to leave right away. Still. We should have told you first.”

“Who is _we_?”

“Caden, Lev, Zander, and I. And…well, I think everyone needs to hear this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh I hope you liked that! The next chapter will be very fun to write, and hopefully to read, and will have an interesting conversation involving Mathew and Habim.


	39. Chapter Thirty-Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is made aware of the fact that Leopold and Arida are, in fact, back and intending to help with the current plans. But four Paladins might not be enough for what is to come, so Safi decides to meet with and talk to the fifth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While writing this chapter, I discovered an immensely frustrating plot hole in this fic that quickly became the bane of my existence. Seeing as it's too late to properly fix it, I like to think I've at least done an okay job at remedying it.

They had barely hit the ground before Merik was rising to his feet and quickly scanning the clearing to find Kullen. Thankfully, he found him almost instantly, on his feet and standing beside Ryber and women that he could only assume were the Sightwitches.

Merik offered his hand to Safi to help her up, but she ignored it, so he went to his Threadbrother instead. “Kullen! Are you all right? What happened? I assume it went well?”

“Very,” Kullen said with a smile, before hugging him tightly. “And you’re both back safely, so I assume that your mission went the same?”

“Mostly, at least,” he admitted. “Safi did the favor for Kahina, but something happened as she was leaving. I’m not sure what it was, but it hit her hard.”

Kullen tilted his head in confusion. “She’s not hurt or anything? You’re both safe?”

“Perfectly safe. Wait,” he added, falling quiet so he could hear what Safi was saying to Iseult. He couldn’t catch all the words, but he clearly heard _My uncle is dead_. “Oh,” he said softly. He would do all he could to comfort her later, but right now he knew that she would feel safest beside her Threadsister.

Just like Merik did now beside his Threadbrother.

So he told Kullen everything, explaining what had happened while they were away before listening to Kullen’s own story. When he finally admitted that he’d had to channel the power through himself in order to free the Sightwitches and the girls, Merik’s heart immediately began to race, but he was quickly at least assured that it was for nothing. Whether Kullen had been in danger or not, he wasn’t anymore, and they were together again.

Merik was so distracted by the conversation with his Threadbrother, as each ensured that the other was safe probably more times than were necessary, that he admittedly was paying no attention to what was going on around them. He heard Safi saying something about a secret that she’d been hiding from the others, and was mildly intrigued, but Kullen was more important. Safi and her secrets could wait for another time, and if it was really important, someone would have told the two of them to join the rest of the group.

“Merry!” Vivia called, and he jumped a little at the sound of her voice. When had his sister gotten here? They had separated earlier as she went back to Nubrevna, and he hadn’t been in contact with her since. Perhaps he should have been paying a bit more attention.

“What?” he asked, reluctantly drawing his attention away from Kullen.

“I’m glad to be back,” she said with a quick smile, then immediately went back to business. “Now get over here, both of you. There’s apparently been a development.”

Well, it seemed that someone _was_ telling them to rejoin the group after all. Was it about Safi’s secret? He didn’t have the time to ask before Vivia was impatiently gesturing for them to follow her back to where everyone else stood. He wanted to stop and catch up with his sister, ask how the reclamation of power had gone in Lovats, but she didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk. So he would honor that for now and listen to whatever it was that Safi and the others had to say.

Merik stopped dead in his tracks once he saw two people amidst the others who had most certainly not been there before: Arida, her expression far too pleasant for his comfort, and Leopold, who leaned against her with a tired smile.

There were countless frantic thoughts spiraling through his mind, too quickly to pin down and put into words. Kullen managed to say it all in a single low breath, somehow sounding intimidated and amused at the same time. “What have we _missed_, Merik?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered, forcing himself to refrain from lashing out with his witchery. No one else was attacking, so he clearly didn’t know the whole story, but it was still difficult to not defend himself and his friends against the two people who had betrayed them before. When he looked closer, though, he saw that Arida had a heretic’s collar around her neck to prevent her from using her Wordwitchery. That, at least, was reassuring—not to mention the fact that Caden, Lev, and Zander were standing behind and beside them, respectively, to make sure that they didn’t escape.

“I’m sorry for not saying something sooner,” Safi was saying. “They first spoke to us on the ship—they snuck on, glamoured to look like Cartorran soldiers. They told us…well, why don’t you say it to everyone else?” She glanced at the two of them expectantly.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Merik asked before they could respond, and as soon as the words left his mouth, he wished they sounded less accusatory. It was true, he wished they had brought it up before now, but it wasn’t fair of him to take that frustration out on Safi, especially when she was still upset and grieving. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice softening. “Just…why?”

“We didn’t want to make a hasty decision,” Safi explained, giving him a small smile that said she appreciated the apology. “And we…well, _I _was worried that some of you might be a bit reckless if you learned that they were on the ship with us.” Merik didn’t think he imagined the way that her eyes strayed to Lizl as she said those words, though—if he was being honest with himself—he was probably just as likely to have made a careless decision as the Carawen monk was.

Lizl looked thoroughly unamused. “What was hasty was talking to the two of them alone without telling anybody else first. Arida is a Wordwitch, and you all could have fallen under her control if hadn’t been lucky.”

“Trust me,” Arida said, reaching up to touch her throat self-consciously. “They were more of a danger to us than we were to them. They could have killed us both when they had the chance.”

Lev muttered something to Arida. She didn’t speak loudly or clearly enough for Merik to be sure of what it had been, but it sounded a lot like _Don’t make me regret it_. The way her hand rested on her dagger threateningly as she said it seemed to support that conclusion.

“That makes sense,” Merik muttered. He still didn’t like it, but he knew he had to let it go if they were to continue the conversation and actually get answers.

“Well, then?” Safi asked, directing her attention to the traitors again.

Leopold, who would normally leap at the chance to tell his part of a story in the dramatic way that was typical of him, merely shook his head and waved his hand vaguely. Merik realized that the prince looked not only exhausted but also in pain and even a little sick. It was strange to see the normally poised and charismatic prince in this state.

Arida slipped her arm behind Leopold’s shoulders, and Merik wasn’t sure whether it was meant to be comforting or just to help him keep standing. If the former, then the gesture irritated Merik, and if the latter, then it was probably necessary at this point. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with Leopold, but he definitely wasn’t acting like himself.

Before he could try to solve that mystery, Arida began to talk—and at least one thing had stayed the same from when they’d seen each other last, because she still had a lot to say. Only this time, the things that she said were all ones that some part of Merik wished she hadn’t. Though he knew that she had betrayed them all and that her intentions had clearly never been good, he hadn’t imagined that she would have done the things that she was admitting to.

Responsibility for Caden, Lev, and Zander being forced into the Hell-Bard brigade. Telling Henrick that she suspected a Truthwitch was amongst the nobility, leaving him to guess that it was Safi because of the way that her uncle had hurriedly gotten her away from Praga, and for it later to be confirmed by Caden. Beginning to work with Ragnor knowing full well what he intended to do to the world once he had won this war, planning to only go along with his schemes until Henrick was removed from the throne of Cartorra. According to Arida, they both planned to go against the Raider King as soon as the Cartorran emperor was dealt with, and they would then focus Cartorra’s army on fighting against Ragnor to prevent him from carrying out the rest of his schemes.

Merik found _that_ hard to believe. “And we’re supposed to trust this?” he asked incredulously. “Why? Why would you betray him so soon? Surely it would be easier to just let the Raider King kill the rest of the leaders and empires so you could have more power.”

“He wants to kill the Paladins,” Leopold murmured, and gestured towards himself with an implication that only confused Merik even more. “I’d have to be quite a fool to keep letting him strengthen his army.”

“To be clear,” Ryber cut in. “You’re trying to say that _you_—”

“Are a Paladin,” Arida finished. “Precisely. We didn’t always know, but once we found out, we could hardly keep going along with _all_ of the Raider King’s plans. Still, we thought it would be useful to let him do some of the work for us in terms of setting it up so that Leopold could easily take over Cartorra. At this point we’ve realized it’s not possible, and it’s not worth it, considering everything else that the Raider King wants to do. We know that now.”

Lizl actually laughed. “I’ve never met you in my life before, and I still know that we would have to be very stupid to believe you.”

“Just ask Safiya,” Leopold said hoarsely. “We can’t lie to her. Iseult—our Threads?”

“Their Threads seem honest,” Iseult admitted slowly. “But this is ridiculous. Besides, your Threads have clearly fooled us before.” Her flat tone made it clear that she wasn’t going to let herself get tricked again, and Merik could hardly blame her.

With a sigh, Leopold pushed away from Arida and stumbled a bit closer to Safi so that there would be no mistaking the truth, or lies, in what came next. Caden immediately followed, his hand going to the sword at his side in a gesture that was more symbolic than anything. Leopold clearly wasn’t in a state to pose any kind of threat to Safi, and even he wasn’t foolish enough to try something when he was surrounded by so many armed people.

“Everything we’ve told you has been the truth,” Leopold told Safi, his blue-green eyes tight with pain as he focused on the Truthwitch. “Both aboard the ship and right now. We are no longer working with the Raider King in any capacity. I’ll be the first to say I’m sorry for what we’ve done. But we want to do all we can to help you now.”

“You’re telling the truth,” Safi said tentatively. “At least, it seems so. But that doesn’t make you much easier to trust. And what’s the _matter_ with you?” she added, blinking in confusion at the prince.

Iseult frowned in thought. “I suppose that if they’re telling the truth, and he is a Paladin, then he might be affected like Owl, Kullen, and Stix have been,” she said. “Though this does seem extreme.”

“And according to Eridysi’s journals, the Rook King’s stronghold was always in the Orhin Mountains,” Ryber explained. “It’s now the Carawen Monastery, actually, which isn’t too far from where we are now. It wouldn’t surprise me if that was confusing for a Paladin today, especially the reincarnation of the Rook King himself and when we’re already so close to the blade and glass.”

“So between all of us, there are _four _Paladins?” Kullen asked incredulously. “Seems unlikely.”

Leopold shrugged. “I don’t know what you want to hear. I’m the Aether Paladin, of that I am certain. Ask Safiya if you like. Or Ryber.”

“If Safi says he’s telling the truth, I can’t see why he wouldn’t be,” Ryber admitted, after Safi nodded. “Fine. You’re the Rook King. That doesn’t mean you’re on our side.”

“I don’t blame you for doubting it,” Arida chimed in. Merik wished they would stop with that. Everyone here already knew that they were smart for being distrustful right about now, and Leopold and Arida acknowledging that didn’t make them any more trustworthy. “But like it or not, you need us.”

There was a long pause, and finally Safi spoke up. “All right. Why, exactly, do we need you?”

“The Raider King isn’t the only way that Leopold can become the emperor of Cartorra,” Arida explained. “Now that Iseult—well, now that we forced Iseult to heal the Hell-Bards, it won’t be long until the assassination is carried out. Perhaps they’ve already done it. Henrick won’t be the emperor for much longer, and once that happens, it would be useful to have Cartorra on your side.”

“Do you mean to tell me,” Merik interrupted, holding up his hand to stop her before she could start talking again, “that you two have planned to have Emperor Henrick assassinated?”

“No!” Arida exclaimed, clapping a hand over her mouth like he had said something truly shocking. “Well…we freed the Hell-Bards intending for them to rebel against the emperor and serve Leopold instead. Some of them will probably seek revenge by killing Henrick for what he subjected them all to. But we didn’t order them to.”

Iseult sighed, shaking her head. “But they will regardless. You may as well have ordered it.”

She grimaced, which was as good as an admission. “Cartorra is falling apart under Henrick’s rule, whether it’s obvious or not, and we need a competent ruler to lead during the war, as well as to fix everything that he’s already broken. I already have more at stake here than most other Cartorrans, but I know we aren’t the only ones who want change. Maybe it’s a harsh way of getting it, but we don’t have many choices. And with the direction we took, it isn’t _technically _regicide.”

Merik wasn’t sure what excuses he had expected Arida to give, but “it isn’t _technically_ regicide” was not one of them.

“In that case, then,” Lizl said, her words heavy with sarcasm. “This has to be a joke. Let’s kill them both and get on with it.”

“Wait!” Arida exclaimed, slight urgency creeping into her voice. “You really do need us. Even if you’re willing to ignore the asset of having the Cartorran army on your side—which would be a foolish mistake, though it’s yours to make—the purpose of the Cahr Awen is to restore magic, yes? And to do that, you would need to fully heal the Origin Wells, as well as Sirmaya and the dying Threads.”

Safi nodded slowly, clearly waiting for her to make her point. “Yes. That’s the purpose of the Cahr Awen. Which you aren’t.”

“Yes, but you won’t be able to fully restore it by yourself. You need the embodiment of each branch of magic—the Paladins. Or, well, as many as you can manage at this point.”

“Four’s the best we can hope for,” Leopold said quietly. “Now that Corlant is dead. I highly doubt you’d be able to convince Habim to change sides.”

“_What _did you say?” Iseult retorted, tense in a way that even Merik knew wasn’t typical for her. “Habim is a Paladin? And so was C-Corlant?”

Leopold stumbled again, this time grabbing Caden’s arm for support instead since the Hell-Bard was closer. Caden immediately helped to steady him on his feet, then visibly stiffened when he seemed to remember who he was helping instead of the title of the person he was helping. Merik didn’t particularly like Caden or even know him very well, but he at least sympathized with him. It couldn’t be easy to go so quickly from being under someone’s command to being betrayed by them and having no choice but to unlearn the instincts he’d been taught.

“Yes,” the prince answered. “Corlant didn’t make many people aware. He liked it to be a secret weapon of sorts. But I’m surprised that you never knew about Habim, seeing as you were close to each other.”

Merik saw Safi flinch at the past tense.

“I’m not surprised,” Aeduan mused, which made Merik realize that the Bloodwitch was there at all. He hadn’t been contributing to the conversation up until now, though that might have been partly due to the fact that he had been speaking quietly to Owl for most of it. “I only saw Habim once, in Veñaza City, but he had far too much power to be normal for a Firewitch.”

“I had no idea,” Safi admitted, shock written on every inch of her face. She opened her mouth to say something else, but then went quiet again, her eyes unfocused as she stared at the horizon. He was tempted to ask her to finish the thought, but it seemed like she was planning something, and he didn’t want to disrupt that.

“Fine,” Caden said, turning a little to focus on Arida while still supporting Leopold. “Those are reasons why _he_ is on our side, why we need _him_. You, on the other hand, are much too big of a risk. Nothing you say could convince me otherwise.”

“Are you saying you trust me?” Leopold asked hopefully.

He laughed bitterly. “No. I’m saying that with enough time and proof, I could be persuaded to believe that the things you’ve done have been for the greater good. And, then, maybe to trust you again. But her? She’s ruined our lives in countless ways. There’s no redeeming that.”

“She stays,” Leopold insisted, his voice strengthening in spite of the fact that he was still heavily leaning on the Hell-Bard. “She can help us.”

Caden shook her head. “And she can also betray us again. Not a risk worth taking.”

“It isn’t just your choice to make,” Merik interjected.

“Do _you_ want to trust Arida?” Caden demanded, eyes wide with disbelief.

He gestured futilely. “No,” he said finally.

The Hell-Bard blinked, but didn’t press the matter. Merik knew he sounded ridiculous, and if asked he would admit it—but he hadn’t liked the way that Caden presumed to make a decision for everyone else in the group. Even if it was the only logical decision to make.

“What do you have to lose?” Arida asked simply. “I’d be more useful if I could use my Wordwitchery, but I’ll keep the heretic’s collar on for as long as you see fit while I help you all. That way you won’t even have to worry about me betraying you. I could say the oath of the Cahr Awen, but I don’t think it would mean much since I’m not a monk. I _can_ promise you that I will not turn against you, and that I’ll do whatever I can to fight against the Raider King and help you with the Origin Wells.”

“Wait,” Leopold said, looking confused. He turned to the Hell-Bards. “Iseult restored your Threads—so how are you still capable of using the heretic’s collars? To be clear, I agree with Arida. It’s a good plan, and you can collar me too if you’d like, but…how?”

Lev shrugged. “I’m not sure. I hadn’t considered it until we were in the ship’s cabin and we saw you—and then I counted on it to work because we had no other options. It seems like some of the changes were permanent, and we can still put on and take off the collars.”

“What is it, Saf?” Iseult asked, abruptly changing the topic and watching her Threadsister apprehensively. It seemed that Merik wasn’t the only one who had noticed the way that Safi was lost in thought.

She snapped out of it, blinking before focusing on the people around her again. “If this goes well, and if we really can trust Leopold, I think we’ll be able to manage five.”

Silence.

“What?” Cam asked. Merik recognized that kind of _what_—not the kind that questioned what someone had said, but the kind that fully acknowledged what they had said and was rather questioning the sanity of it.

“Five. Five Paladins. Corlant’s dead, and even if he wasn’t, there’s no way that we would be able to get him on our side.” Iseult actually shuddered at the idea, and Gretchya, who stood beside her, stiffened. “But Habim knows us. He loves us, even if he’s working with the wrong person. I spoke to him in Azmir, and he and Mathew have done terrible things, but they don’t understand, not really. They have good reasons to want change, but they don’t understand how the Raider King wants to bring it. And Iz, you and I are the only people who can tell them what he really wants.”

Iseult took a deep breath. “We don’t know where they are. And it would be so dangerous to find them now, when the Raider King himself could be nearby. We can’t exactly tell Mathew and Habim that he wants to kill us while he’s right there watching.”

“Aeduan, you said you saw Habim once?” Safi asked, receiving a curt nod. “Did you keep track of his blood-scent?”

“Of course.”

“Where is he now?” she persisted. “Which general direction, and how close?”

The Bloodwitch’s eyes began to turn red as he inhaled deeply, pausing as though to interpret whatever information he was able to gather. His eyes widened. “Close. Very close. Back the way you came, although not as far away as my father and his army. I can only assume they were sent ahead for some reason, which would mean that the raiders will be approaching soon.”

“We’ll be ready for them when they do,” Vivia said, her eyes blazing with enough heat that they might as well have already been in battle. “I’ve brought an army, and so has Vaness. We can meet the raiders and end it here.”

“I wouldn’t be so confident,” Aeduan warned. “That is the goal, yes, but he is not to be underestimated.”

Safi waved this off as irrelevant. “But _we_ will be able to make more of a difference if we have another Paladin on our side. It’s possible, I know it is. Either way, if we could talk to them alone, they wouldn’t turn us in to the Raider King. I’m sure of that.”

“Are you really?” Merik asked, hoping it didn’t sound too harsh. He didn’t want to begin a new argument between them, but they had to face the facts, and Safi had certainly been wrong about people before. The Cartorran prince beside them was proof enough of that.

“I am,” she said, meeting his gaze unwaveringly. “Habim and Mathew are misguided, very much so, but they’re good people at heart. And they’re our Thread-family. If there’s anybody who could make them see sense….”

She trailed off, making her point clear enough without further elaboration. No one else would be able to convince them.

“On second thought, Iseult, maybe you should stay behind,” Arida suggested. “If you—”

“No,” Iseult said flatly. “I’ll be going with Safi, and I am certainly not going to take _your_ advice.”

Arida sighed, like she knew Iseult had every reason to not listen to her suggestions. “I was only saying that if you both end up getting caught by the Raider King somehow, it would be much worse than if only one of you did. At least one would have the chance to get out, but if the complete Cahr Awen was with Ragnor, he would kill you both immediately. Besides, there might be more that you can do here.”

“Such as?” Kullen asked.

“Well, you plan to restore the remaining Origin Wells and use the power of the Paladins to heal Sirmaya, correct? Well, Esme stands between that, and Iseult is the only one who can communicate with her.”

Safi shook her head. “I wouldn’t be concerned about Esme. When I saw her at the raider camp, she looked exhausted and sick. I highly doubt she’d be able to interfere with anything we do if she’s like that.”

“Don’t underestimate Esme either,” Leopold cautioned them. “It might not seem like she’s able to do much, but knowing her, she’d be willing to push her limits just to make things more difficult for us.”

Merik didn’t like the way that Leopold said _us_ as if he assumed that they would immediately trust him now, but even more than that, he didn’t like the way the conversation was going. The mention of Esme’s name was enough to set him on edge, after everything she had subjected him to after capturing him—the last thing he wanted to do was think about the Puppeteer right now, let alone imagine himself being in the same general location as her. As it was, he had no idea that she had been nearby when he waited for Safi to return after doing the favor for Kahina. Looking back on it, it was probably a good thing that he hadn’t known.

“I hate to say it,” Safi said slowly, “but Arida has a point. I don’t think it’ll be dangerous as long as we’re only speaking to Mathew and Habim, and not going to the other raiders—but Iz, if both of us go, we could both be taken.”

“But it shouldn’t have to be you,” Iseult replied. “You already took a risk back there when you went to Admiral Kahina. You shouldn’t have to go back.”

“I’m not going back,” she reassured her Threadsister. “Just to Mathew and Habim. And at the first sign of danger, I’ll come right back even if I haven’t made any progress. I promise.”

Iseult frowned. “I still don’t like it. You’d be going right in the direction of danger.”

“What other choice do we have? We can’t both go. Arida is right in that, at least. And if you stay here, you’ll be able to try to talk to Esme and figure out what she plans to do.”

“I’ll try,” she promised heavily, her face tight with concern. “But don’t stay too long. I want them to help us, too, but you’ll always come first.”

If Safi was serious about going to talk to Mathew and Habim so she could persuade them to betray the Raider King and help her, she would need someone to take her back to wherever the two of them were now. It might not be as far away as the Raider King himself, according to Aeduan at least, but it was still far too close to Esme for Merik’s comfort.

He took a deep, steadying breath and didn’t say a word. If she needed someone to bring her to Habim and Mathew, then he would take her there just like he did before, and it wouldn’t matter. They wouldn’t _actually_ encounter Esme while they were there. Probably not, at least. And even if they did, it would be selfish of him to refuse to bring Safi there with his Windwitchery just because of an irrational fear.

Before he could volunteer, Kullen stepped forward towards Safi. “I’ll take you to Mathew and Habim,” he said smoothly. “It’ll be faster to fly than to walk there, and with the armies approaching, we don’t have any time to waste.”

“No,” Merik protested. “You just helped free the Sightwitches, Lisbet, and Cora from the sleeping ice. It can’t be good for you to use your magic again so soon.”

“It’s only flying, Merik,” Kullen insisted. “It doesn’t use that much energy, and in any case, I’ve fully recovered from that. We’ll just be there and back almost immediately.”

He might not want to do this, but he wasn’t going to risk his Threadbrother over it after almost losing him so many times. “If that’s true, then it doesn’t matter. I’ll go with her like I did before, and we’ll return soon. Hopefully with Habim and Mathew alongside us.”

“If you do succeed,” Kullen continued, “and the two of them do come back with you, how will you all get here? One Windwitch won’t be enough to fly four people.”

“We could…make it work.” They would come up with something. Or if they couldn’t, they could walk back. It would take longer than would be optimal, of course, but they’d save time by flying one way to get there. Besides, even though Merik’s skin was crawling with panic at the thought of being so close to Esme, who had once controlled his every action and stayed persistently inside his head, it would worth the risk if he was the only one in danger.

Kullen saw through the attempt like he always did, and the gentle look on his face was enough to tell Merik that he’d seen it from the start. This, then, was why he’d instantly stepped forward to volunteer his Airwitchery instead of Merik’s.

“But you don’t need to,” Kullen said softly, coming closer to Merik and embracing him again. “You always try to take care of me, Merik, and it shows how much you care. But I’ll be completely safe, and you don’t need to be the one to do this. Please, let me do this for _you_ now.”

And when he said it like that, Merik couldn’t argue with him. So instead he leaned into Kullen’s embrace and stayed there for a long moment, letting the silence say all the things that his words couldn’t. _Stay safe. Come back as quickly as possible. Thank you. Thank you for doing this even though you don’t have to, with the only reason being that I’m scared. Thank you for seeing it._

He supposed he could have said it all aloud, but it wasn’t necessary. By Noden, he loved his Threadbrother.

Safi hated this. She hated leaving her Threadsister so soon after they’d returned, she hated the fact that she _needed_ to seek out Mathew and Habim to get them to change their minds, and she hated the fact that this was the only way she could do it.

Most of all, she hated Ragnor and what he was putting all of them through. No, not just Ragnor—the whole lot of them, all the rest of people who worked with him by choice instead of by misjudgment. Corlant, who had hurt her Threadsister and whose name was enough to frighten Iseult even now once he was dead, and even though Iseult wasn’t the type of person to be scared easily. Kahina, who had brought her to the raider camp in the first place to fulfill a foolish debt, which had inadvertently gotten her uncle killed. And Esme, the Puppeteer who had invaded Iseult’s mind and thoughts countless times and who had scarred Merik to the point that his Threadbrother immediately volunteered to take Safi to a place that would be in Esme’s general direction instead of him.

Not that she blamed him, of course, and not that she was upset at either Merik or Kullen for this turn of events. Still, it was difficult to relax or make conversation with the person with whom her previous interactions had been mostly limited to their time aboard the _Jana_ together when he forcibly took the air from her lungs.

So, for the most part, Safi and Kullen were silent once they landed (much more gracefully) further in the Sirmayans to the area that Aeduan claimed Habim was. Unfortunately, he couldn’t speak for Mathew, as he had never sensed the Wordwitch’s blood-scent before, but Safi didn’t think it would be wrong to assume that they’d remain close together.

“It might be late to ask for clarification on this,” Kullen began awkwardly, “but are you absolutely sure that they’ll want to help? What if they really are working with the Raider King, knowing full well what he wants to accomplish?”

“They aren’t,” Safi insisted stubbornly. “Well, they are working with him, but they don’t know the full truth. They can’t. He knows that they’re tired of the war, and he’s using it against them to convince them that his way is the only one.”

Kullen sighed. “I hope so. But what if—”

“We’re Thread-family,” she interrupted, maybe a bit too snappishly. Kullen had every right to voice his concerns, but it didn’t make her any more amenable to hearing them. “Would you believe that your Thread-family would be willingly working for a person who wanted you dead? Or would you think there was another explanation, and try anything you could to help them realize what was really at stake?”

He didn’t answer, because it was obvious. “Threads can change,” he muttered.

“Yes, well, neither of us are Threadwitches, so we wouldn’t know it if they have. And they _haven’t_, I’m sure of it. Just let me talk to them, all right? You can stay within sight in case something goes seriously wrong and we need to get away.”

Kullen didn’t look happy about it, but he nodded as if that compromise was enough for him. Which was good, because short of actually taking the air from her lungs and bringing her back by force, there was nothing he could do to convince her not to talk to Habim and Mathew.

The only remaining problem was that they had no idea where Habim and Mathew were. They knew that they had to be in this area, of course, because of what Aeduan had said before—but she had no idea how far “this area” extended and where, exactly, they could find who they were looking for.

Due to this understandable ignorance, they were wandering through the Sirmayans for at least an hour before she finally saw them, their familiar figures emerging from the trees and stopping as soon as they saw (and, presumably, recognized) her. Then Mathew ran forward, stopping only a few paces away from her.

“Safi! We’ve been trying to find you since we heard from Kahina that you’d arrived at the raider camp,” he explained, reaching out as if to pull her into an embrace. She stepped back—she was happy to see Mathew again, but she also wasn’t a fool. Mathew’s green eyes tightened with hurt, though he seemed to at least understand. “We feared the worst.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Safi said. “You taught me well.”

Mathew smiled, that carefree smile that she recognized so easily. It brought one to her own face in recognition, and for a moment she forgot about the way he had tried to assassinate Vaness in Azmir and the way he had used his Wordwitchery against her in Veñaza City. For a moment, everything was back to the way it used to be.

Then Habim arrived beside his Heart-Thread, and that moment snapped. It hurt more to look at him, somehow, because it had been Habim who raised her even as a child. _Habim _who was Eron’s man-at-arms and who had taught her when her uncle couldn’t be bothered to, and now her uncle was dead. Now, Habim was…she didn’t even know.

_I don’t know you anymore_. That was what Safi had thought when he ordered the Adders to torture Caden, Lev, and Zander back in Azmir, when he refused to tell Safi that Eron had been captured by Henrick. How long ago that felt now. It felt like years, but it hadn’t been, and that little time was hardly enough to erase the wounds he had caused. Mathew’s smile, however comforting, certainly couldn’t undo it.

If Iseult were in her place, she would remain calm. She would repeat _Stasis_ to herself until she stilled her thoughts and emotions, until all that was left was steely determination and the job she’d come here for. So Safi took a deep breath, told herself to think like Iseult, and started talking.

“You didn’t tell me the truth when I asked for it,” she said, looking directly into Mathew’s eyes as she said it. “When you set me up to go along with your plans and strategies, you didn’t tell me anything about what it would entail—my uncle’s contract with the Nubrevnans, the way I would get to Lejna, and what would happen to me when I got there. Be honest: did you expect that the Marstoks would intercept me at Lejna’s harbor? Did you expect Vaness to take me to Azmir, where you could easily stage the attack and claim that it was all in an effort to help me escape?”

“I think you know that, Safi,” Habim told her heavily. “You’re clever. And so are we. It was a good plan, at the very least.”

“Good?” Safi repeated incredulously. “To try to kill the empress of Marstok because you think that would make the war _stop_? I know it was done for the sake of peace, and because you think her death would be the beginning of the end of fighting amongst empires, but you’re wrong. It would make things so much worse, and it very nearly almost did—and for what? To prevent death by causing someone else’s?”

Habim held up his hands defensively. “Safi. We know.”

“Clearly not,” she shot back, “or else you wouldn’t have…done anything you’ve been doing. I told the truth back in Azmir. I do love you, and it’s because I love you that I think you can still change.”

“I agree,” Mathew replied, catching her off-guard. “We were wrong in so many ways, Safi, and I’m so sorry. We made a lot of mistakes, and so did Eron, though I think you know what happened.”

She nodded mutely.

His voice softened, taking on the reassuring tone that Mathew always had when he wasn’t using his Wordwitchery but still wanted to calm her down over something. “I know this can’t be easy. It isn’t for us, and it must be so much worse for you. We failed you, Safi. We were frightened of what this world was becoming and so tired of the constant destruction, so we took what seemed to be the best option. Unfortunately, that option was the Raider King, and we’ve been paying for it ever since.”

“No, you haven’t,” Safi said quietly. “Not really. Iseult and I have been paying for it, and Vaness, and the Hell-Bards, and everyone else that you used in your schemes without thinking about what might happen. But not you.”

“I _know_.” Mathew took her hands in his, and Kullen stepped forward ever so slightly. Not enough to block Mathew from taking her hands, and not enough to be obviously threatening him, but enough to make the Airwitch’s marked hand impossible to ignore. A warning.

While Mathew was seeming to, at the very least, empathize with the points she was making, Safi met Habim’s gaze. “And Habim,” she continued, her voice lower than it had been before. Her words more subdued. “The moment I saw you in Azmir, I thought you were here to help me. I thought you would give me advice, give me help, give me some kind of sign that you knew where Iseult was and could lead me to her.”

“To be fair, we did have a plan that would eventually get you to Iseult,” Habim explained. “You were supposed to get to the monastery.”

“The monastery led by Natan fon Leid? Who tried to kill Iseult and as good as handed her over to the raiders? I’m sure I, too, would have been so safe there.”

Habim frowned. “I didn’t know how…severe the abbot’s beliefs were at the time. That’s my responsibility, and mine alone. The important thing is that she’s all right now, and so are you.”

“Your allegiances is with the Raider King,” Safi reminded him, “and when I was at the raider camp with Kahina, he would have killed me if my uncle hadn’t helped me escape when he did. I think you know by now that I’m the Cahr Awen—if I’m being honest with all of us, even before I did—and Ragnor wants to kill the Cahr Awen, Habim. He wants to kill _me_. If you didn’t know that with absolute certainty before, you do now.”

“I know,” Habim said, “which is why we’ve been trying to find you. An apology isn’t enough, but that and our help is all we’ve got.”

They were the exact words that she wanted to hear, and her Truthwitchery told her that each of them was genuine. But the rush of happiness upon hearing them was tempered by bitterness, by the unshakable knowledge that an apology _wasn’t_ enough and that they would never have those same bonds as before. They were still Thread-family, but those bonds had been severely tested, and it would take time to rebuild them again.

“We came here so you would help us,” Safi said finally, nodding towards Kullen beside her. “If you mean this, you can come back with us and help. Apparently, Habim, you’re one of the Paladins, which is another thing that I wish you’d never kept from us. We need the Paladins on our side right now if we really want to fight against Ragnor, which we do.”

“All right,” Mathew agreed, nodding. “Let’s go.”

She raised a hand to stop him before going further. “There are conditions. If you have any issues with the people I’m helping and working with, don’t settle them with an assassination attempt. Once was too many times. When we get back, go and talk to Iseult and tell them everything you’ve just told me, because she deserves to hear it from you. Also, Vaness will be arriving soon with her army, and she’s on our side, so please come to terms with that now.”

Habim nodded as well. “Of course.”

“And if you care at all, stay away from the Hell-Bards,” Safi added. “They still can’t sleep well because of what you put them through.”

To his credit, he actually looked a bit ashamed of that, but shame didn’t take it back. Shame didn’t fix what had been broken.

There was a long pause, and then Mathew extended his arms as if asking her permission. She dipped her head to grant it, and he hugged her. It wasn’t the same as before, but then she had known that from the beginning of this conversation. “Thank you for giving us another chance,” he whispered. “We love you too, Safi—we always have, and I’m so sorry for everything we’ve done to imply the opposite. Do you think you can forgive us?”

She pulled away, her gaze flicking between Mathew and Habim. The Wordwitch and the Firewitch, the spy and the general, the men who had raised her and taught her and betrayed her and loved her.

“I wish it were that simple,” Safi said honestly. “But it’s not. I wish I could, and maybe I’ll be able to. I don’t know what it will take. But if you can help us now, I promise you that I’ll try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! The chapters are getting longer as more stuff is happening - I'm so excited for everyone to see what's coming up!


	40. Chapter Forty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the raider army approaching and a battle about to begin, Iseult and Leopold talk to each other about betrayal in the past and what is to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A boring summary, but I couldn't think of anything else. I had to rework a bit of the pacing for this, so some of what was supposed to be in this chapter will be in the next one.

She was Dreaming again, but this time Esme was speaking much quieter in her mind, so lowly that Iseult nearly had to strain to hear her words. And when she did, she wished she hadn’t.

_I must say, Iseult, you’ve been very unhelpful. I asked you to do a simple thing for me—cleave the Earth Well—and you did the opposite. Now you’re actively working against me?_

Iseult immediately tried to ground herself, to exit this dream as soon as she’d begun it. It didn’t work. _I…you’re working with the Raider King. He’s a monster. I c-can’t cleave the Well, either. You never taught me how._

A chiding laugh. _It’s too late. You wouldn’t do it. I see past your lies now, and I know you wouldn’t. You’re too…_good_. Too noble, isn’t that what you think? It isn’t anything special, Iseult, to be able to bow to the ones who have imprisoned and hated us. I am the one fighting back._

_You’re the one hurting us. Hurting me. I will not work with you, Esme. Not now, or ever._

_Hmm?_ Her voice turned cold, and the words vanished from Iseult’s mind completely. Like Esme, herself, had disappeared and all that was left was shadowy nothingness in her head. It was too much of a sudden shift in the Dreaming for Iseult to let her guard down, but somehow she was still not expecting it when someone’s hand clamped over her shoulder.

Frantically, she repeated anything in her mind that she thought would help. The multiplication tables, the different types of Threadstone loops, and an ever-present refrain of stasis. Still, though, the hand remained on her shoulder and she could not move to push the person away. Not even as the person spoke her name.

“Iseult!”

Iseult sat up abruptly, her heart racing. As she began to breathe deeply and calm her thoughts, she realized the hand on her shoulder must have been in real life as someone woke her up for her turn to keep watch—but in her dreaming state, she had been so sure that someone was attacking her.

She blinked, her eyes finally adjusting. It was just Lev, her hand resting on Iseult’s shoulder from gently shaking her awake. It had technically been Arida’s turn to keep watch, but Lev had outright refused to let the Wordwitch do it by herself while everyone else at the campsite would be asleep and defenseless, so the Hell-Bard had joined her.

“Sorry,” Lev whispered. It didn’t escape Iseult’s notice that the Hell-Bard’s free hand was clamped over Arida’s wrist, keeping the Wordwitch at her side. “Nightmare, or Puppeteer?”

“Puppeteer.” Considering that everyone in the campsite aside from them and Arida was sound asleep, whispering probably wasn’t necessary, but it helped fight back the stutter that Iseult was sure would slip into her words otherwise. “It’s probably a good thing you woke me up when you did.”

“Well, good. I don’t think it’d be healthy for any of us if _she_ stays on watch with me any longer.” Lev’s words were clipped in a way that was highly unusual for her. “If you can take over from here?”

Iseult nodded. “All right. You two get some rest.”

“Leopold will want to keep watch, too,” Arida muttered. “He’s a part of this now too.”

“You sure _you_ want that?” Lev retorted. “He didn’t exactly seem up to it earlier.”

Arida sighed. “It’s because we’re so close to the sleeping ice, the blade and glass. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it affect the other Paladins. If you don’t trust him yet, let him keep watch with Iseult like I did with you.”

“Fine. He’s hardly dangerous. Iseult, wake up His Highness, and keep an eye on him.”

“Of course. And the war is approaching—try to get some sleep, at least.”

Now _Lev_ sighed. “I’ll try. Good luck with the prince.”

Iseult didn’t need it—she knew she could handle Leopold even when he was at his full strength, unless he was accompanied by Arida, and especially now that the two were actively trying to prove that they were trustworthy. Still, it was at least a supportive sentiment from someone who was understandably tired and frustrated, and Iseult was grateful for any kind of good wishes after her conversation with Esme.

She crossed the campsite to where Leopold was asleep, kneeling beside him to gently shake his shoulder. “_Leopold_. Leopold, wake up.”

“Hm?” He stirred, propping himself up on his elbow. “Iseult. What is it?”

“Arida said you wanted to take a turn keeping watch,” she said quietly. “But I can do it myself if you like.”

Leopold shook his head, wincing but not backing down. “No. I need to talk to you.”

Iseult didn’t particularly wish to talk to him, though she supposed he would do little else if they were to sit through a watch cycle together, and she might as well learn what she could about his motives. “Fine. If you want. Don’t wake the others.”

He slowly rose to a sitting position and then stood, beckoning for Iseult to follow him to the edge of the glade where they would be further away from those who were still sleeping. Here they could speak to one another and still survey the campsite to ensure that no attackers were approaching.

Subconsciously, Iseult gripped her Threadstone and silver taler. There wasn’t much he would be able to do with them now if he did try to grab them, but that didn’t make her any less wary.

“Thank you for giving us a chance,” Leopold began softly, his words a little less theatrical than they normally tended to be. It still caught her off-guard to hear him speak like that. “I know some of the others were…less inclined.”

“The way they should be,” she said, wrapping her cloak more tightly around herself. The mountain air was crisp and cold, and she craved that bit of comfort in such an unfamiliarly high altitude. “And you kidnapped me, so I’m hardly inclined either.”

He shrugged. “That’s fair. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry, but it had to be done. We needed the Hell-Bards to be freed in order to restore justice to Cartorra.”

“Why couldn’t you have gotten Esme to do it?” Iseult asked. “You seem to be v-very friendly with her.”

“I’m not _friendly_ with Esme,” Leopold replied patiently, “and in case you’ve forgotten, Arida and I had been trying to distance ourselves from the Raider King and his efforts. We did want to get away—he wants to kill the Paladins, after all, and take over the empires. We were using his power to get to our own goals, which doesn’t sound much better, but I swear to you it is the truth. And you see my Threads.”

She did, and they _were_ admittedly straightforward and earnest, but tolerable intentions did not undo the damage he’d done. “So to make us trust you, you brought me to Praga against my will and under the influence of a Wordwitch? To participate in something that would lead to the assassination of an emperor?”

Leopold grimaced, and Iseult didn’t care enough to ask whether it had been out of pain or discomfort with the topics they were discussing. “Neither of us are proud of it, and I wish it hadn’t gotten to the point that it did when you were healing the Hell-Bards. We didn’t intend to overwhelm you.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“But of course it—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Iseult repeated, her voice icy and level as always. Emotional and unpredictable she might be, but she was raised a Threadwitch and she could still be a Threadwitch in the moments when it counted. “It doesn’t, because you still did it. You still betrayed Safi, even when she thought she could depend on you. You still broke our trust time and time again, and the only reason we keep you here now is because somehow we’re foolish enough to think it won’t happen again.”

He laughed mirthlessly. “I guess we’re all fools, then. Somehow I’m still tempted to lie to you.”

Iseult blinked. Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn’t that. “Is it that difficult for you to tell the truth?”

“Yes—but not because I _want_ to lie,” Leopold began explaining, managing to only deepen her confusion. “I’m used to it. It’s…well, it’s how I craft the vision of myself that I want other people to see. It’s why I still hide my feelings around you, even though you can see my Threads. Without those lies, I feel…have always felt shockingly vulnerable.”

“It’s called feeling like a person,” she said heavily, and it was true. She, too, crafted her own vision of herself to show others, one draped with exterior calm and stasis until the interior was far too secretive to be noticed. It was safer that way, and it was almost frightening to see how similarly the prince seemed to feel. “Though I don’t know why you’ve now decided to tell me the truth about that.”

He laughed again. “You’d be surprised by how well a splitting headache and cacophonous voices in your head can lower your inhibitions. No doubt I’ll bitterly regret this conversation once we leave the Sirmayans.”

“Is that really still happening? We aren’t as close to the blade and glass as we were before, and you seem to be feeling better than you were before.”

“Only marginally, and there were more visions while I was asleep. Still, I can hardly afford to act that way when we’re about to go to war.” Leopold drummed his fingers against the cold, rocky ground as if to distract himself. “And I can hardly afford to act anxious, either.”

And indeed, his Threads were a nervous shade of taupe. “What is there to be concerned about? Everything is going the way you wanted it.”

“Is it? The Cartorran army will be here before long—my army, and of course I’ll be expected to lead it into battle. It wouldn’t be right any other way if I’m to be the leader now, which I have to be in order to change everything we’ve been fighting to change. But…Iseult, I hope you realize that I’m never this truthful. I never talk about my feelings, except for with Arida, of course. Gods, I’m really not myself.” He closed his eyes, as if dimming some of his senses would quiet the voices in his head. “As I was saying. I need to lead my troops into battle when the raiders arrive, and I’m ready for it. But I _am_ nervous.”

It shouldn’t matter to Iseult that Leopold was nervous, and if she was feeling at all like she should be, she might even be grateful. Good. He should be nervous after everything he’d put them through, especially her. But she didn’t feel that way, not at all, and if she’d been a bit better at recognizing her own emotions she might even have labeled it pity. She wasn’t better, though, and sometimes she wished she could see her own Threads so she could have a word for the confusing bundle of emotions inside her. She knew she wasn’t supposed to have them, but she knew with just as much certainty that she did, and that she was woefully incompetent at comprehending them.

“About the war?” she asked, gritting out the words. She did want to ask them, but speaking them warred against her better judgment. She should not be feeling any shred of pity for this prince.

But still, against her better judgment…. _I guess we’re all fools._

“Oh, no. Far more selfish.” Leopold sighed, his eyes still closed but his voice expressive enough to more than make up for it. “I’m not naïve enough to think that we can defeat the Raider King without bloodshed, but I’m not eager to be a part of it. I’m meant to lead my people, not lead them into death, and certainly not to bring death to others.”

“So you don’t want to kill people.” Iseult’s tone was flat, but her words were nonjudgmental. She, after all, felt the same way. Even killing the Firewitch had weighed down upon her conscience, not to mention Corlant.

His Threads flared with worry and a little shame. “I don’t. I never have before, and I suppose I was just stupid enough to think that I would be able to make my visions a reality without it.”

“Arida confirmed that you two had me heal the Hell-Bards knowing full well that they would turn on your uncle,” she reminded him. “And you don’t see yourself as already complicit in his murder?”

“I suppose I am,” he admitted quietly. “Though somehow it feels different to know that this had to be done, that I won’t be personally responsible for it. Too many people have suffered in my country because of his rule, and I intend to make things right. In a battle, though, with a weapon in hand?” Apprehension darkened his Threads and coated his words. “I can hardly lie to you, so I’ll say I’m frightened.”

It was peculiar to hear Leopold speak without his masks of grace and charm, but stranger still to see what rested beneath that. His actions bled pure cunning, but it seemed that he was a good deal more vulnerable than he tended to behave, and his Threads were proof enough of that. He could have lied just now, or glamoured himself to look more in control, but he hadn’t—and though he was prepared for the upcoming war, he truly was scared.

“How long have you known that you are the Rook King?” Iseult asked. “You seem sure, but Stix wasn’t until only recently.”

“Years. We found out when we started working with the Raider King.” He leaned against the trunk of the evergreen tree he was sitting beside. Some help he was with keeping watch. Then again, she was sure that Lev and Arida hadn’t exactly been alert either, and had probably spent most of the time trying not to kill each other. They were lucky that nobody had actually stumbled across the campsite while they were arguing.

“Then you knew when we were at the Carawen monastery,” she continued, and now it was her turn to drum her fingers nervously against the ground. It was too fidgety for a Threadwitch, as she knew Gretchya would remark if she were to see her daughter now, but she needed some release for her pent-up emotions. “It was you that spoke to me and helped me escape the monastery.”

Leopold hummed in affirmation. “It was.”

“It didn’t seem like you, and it was in a dream,” Iseult noted. “Were you even aware of it?”

“Yes, but it was very strange for me, so I can only imagine how it would have been for you. I had to consciously relinquish control of my thoughts, my words, so that the Paladin could communicate with you through the Dreaming. I only remember pieces of it, and it was disorienting to experience something in my own mind from such a distance.” For the third time tonight, he laughed, but for the first time there seemed to be a little humor in it. “Iseult, I know you’re eager for any kind of significance, but please be content without the trials of being a Paladin.”

She pursed her lips. “How dreadful for you. But you did help me in the monastery, so I owe you gratitude for that.”

“You owe it, or you will give it?” Leopold asked with a wry smile. And by the Moon Mother, it was stupid of her, but she still saw some kindness and charm in that smile, enough to tug up the corners of her own mouth.

“I will give it,” she amended. “Thank you.”

His grin widened, and he opened his eyes again. They looked much darker than usual in the moonlight, less like the ocean and more like a lake deep in a cave. “Of course, Iseult. Anything for the Cahr Awen, no?” His eyes focused on hers for a moment longer before resting shut again, though the smile didn’t fade. “I mean that. I do want to help.”

Iseult nodded, knowing that he couldn’t see it. “You can’t only want to help me. If you are truly on our side, you’re also on the side of Vivia and the Nubrevnans, and Vaness when she arrives, and especially Safi.”

“Of course,” Leopold said, his tone sobering. “When this war ends, I intend to begin an alliance between the empires instead of yet another war. And as for Safiya, I’ve always wanted to help your Threadsister, although I can’t say I’m pleased with the way everyone has been treating mine.”

“_Your_ Threadsister has caused nothing but hurt for me and my friends, and your own complicity was almost all for her sake. How do you expect us to treat her?”

Another sigh. “Give it time. You must’ve seen her Threads, and how apologetic she is, and you heard why she did it. She’ll be invaluable in the battle to come.”

“I fail to see how either of you could be invaluable in a battle,” Iseult said. Blunt, but true. “You’re not exactly confrontational. When you two kidnapped me, Arida nearly cut my throat because her hand was shaking as she held the knife, not because she was trying.”

“Maybe so. I don’t know why you’re complaining about that. Then again, you’ve no need to worry about it in the future, because you must be in the Dreaming if you think the Hell-Bards will give her a blade to fight with in the battle.” He raised an eyebrow. “With that and the heretic’s collar on, yes, she will be helpless in the war. And so will I. But it’s not because we have no other weapons. We do, but they were taken from us, and the only way to prove that we meant them harmlessly is to _use_ them. Which we can’t.”

Iseult frowned, knowing that he couldn’t see that either. “I don’t see what you want me to do about it. I can’t remove the collar, and I don’t trust Arida either.”

Leopold gave a small shrug. “If I was in your position, I probably wouldn’t either. But there are precious few things that we can do right now, and there’s no harm in letting us do what we can.”

The thing was, Iseult knew he had a point. He could be plotting another betrayal, but his Threads were more earnest than they had ever been. And if he really was going to betray them again, then it would be a poor strategy on his part to wait until the battle begun so as to hand them over to the raiders in such crossfire and confusion.

And, of course, there was how vulnerable he was letting himself be, even if he had said earlier that it was difficult. The prince, soon to be emperor, of Cartorra was in the Sirmayan Mountains without a guard or even a weapon to protect himself, resting against the base of a tree with his eyes closed next to a wide-awake Weaverwitch with a cutlass. The sensibility of that was rather questionable, but he was certainly willing to take risks to prove that he trusted Iseult and was on her side.

“You know,” Leopold began quietly, “if you agree with me, you can just say ‘yes.’”

She exhaled sharply. “All right. Yes. Is that what you wanted? Does it make you feel better?”

“Very.”

Iseult wanted to laugh, but stopped herself. It wasn’t particularly funny, she didn’t want Leopold to hear her laughing and think that she _thought_ it was particularly funny, and she didn’t want to wake up the others and then have to explain this mess of a conversation they were having. Which suddenly made her realize just how much of a mess it was, and how she was walking very unstable ground if she wanted to avoid a commitment to trusting the man who had taken her prisoner and also stay open-minded enough to see what was right in front of her. If she thoughtlessly dismissed his words as lies, they could lose the alliance of an entire nation, and they needed all the help they could get to fight against the Raider King’s army.

“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” Iseult said flatly, pushing back the emotion from her voice along with the amusement. “With everyone, so everyone can make a decision. You might be trying to prove it to me, but I’m not the only one who will need the proof.”

“But Iseult—”

“In the morning,” she repeated.

Leopold nodded once, his Threads flushing with a combination of reluctance and respect. He fell silent, and Iseult lost track of time. Eventually, when he had been quiet for so long that she thought he’d fallen asleep, he murmured, “I’m sorry, Iseult. For everything. We’re trying.”

“I know.” She didn’t say that she accepted his apology, and she herself wasn’t sure yet if she did. He seemed to understand, because he didn’t try to justify anything else or keep apologizing. So instead of trying to begin talking again or continue the awkward silence, she went to wake up Aeduan for the next watch. He stood almost immediately, leaving her to wonder whether he had actually been sleeping or if he’d been listening in case of danger.

She supposed it didn’t matter. There had been no secrets, and Leopold was certainly no person to share them with, even when he stopped having them.

Iseult returned to Leopold and helped him rise to his feet, not flinching away when he leaned against her while they walked back to the middle of the campsite and Aeduan replaced them at the edge of the glade. The prince stumbled as he walked, and Iseult had to wonder how much of his unsteadiness was because of his disorientation from the Sirmayans and how much of it was from genuine exhaustion.

When she closed her eyes again, trying to focus on anything but the ever-perplexing prince, her mind strayed to the Puppeteer instead. She didn’t want to give Esme any more time to talk to her tonight than she already had, so she didn’t sleep again that night. And though Leopold had seemed on the verge of unconsciousness throughout the entire watch earlier, she noticed that his breaths never steadied with a familiar resting pattern, so neither did he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY that took so long, the words just...weren't sounding right the first thousand times. Anyway. The next ones will be faster!


	41. Chapter Forty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News arrives about a certain Cartorran emperor, the group ventures to Poznin to restore the Air Well and ruin the Puppeteer's plans in the process, and Vaness returns. Just in time for the battle with the raiders to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who has been reading!! The next two chapters are intense, and they're going to be long. I'm sooo excited!

When Stix awoke that morning, it was to find that nearly everyone else was already awake and talking in hushed voices. It was enough to set her on edge—many voices speaking in unison wasn’t a sound she was eager to hear again, but she realized quickly enough that it was her friends talking and not the cacophonous sound of mingling words in her head.

“What’s going on?” she asked, sitting up and blinking her way into alertness. “Did I miss something?”

“No,” Vivia assured her, coming closer to put her arm around Stix and kiss her cheek. “We wanted to let you sleep a little longer. You deserve to have some time to rest.”

She smiled. “Thank you, but I’d rather be a part of this.”

“All right.” Vivia didn’t move away.

“So what are we doing?” Stix asked.

“We’re going to go through one of Eridysi’s doorways to get to Poznin,” Ryber explained, gesturing towards her bag where she kept the diary. “There we can hopefully undo what Esme has done to the Well and restore its power.”

“Actually, one of my Voicewitches just arrived with news,” Vivia said, and _she_ gestured towards a person standing at the edge of the clearing waiting to be acknowledged. “They were about to give us a message.”

Stix straightened up. Any news was important news at a time like this. “Don’t stop on my account. What is it?”

The Voicewitch bowed to Vivia, the entire gesture made awkward since she was sitting down. “Your Majesty. I’ve just received word that Emperor Henrick was assassinated by his own Hell-Bards weeks ago. His heir, Leopold, is now the emperor, though no one has seen him in even longer than that.”

Vivia gasped, rising to her feet with her mouth open in perfect and utterly fabricated shock. “Assassinated?”

“Yes,” they confirmed simply.

“Thank you for informing me,” she continued, her tone businesslike at once. _That’s my Vivia. That’s my queen_. “I’m sure that the new emperor will negotiate with us as his uncle has, though the outcomes of those negotiations will have to be dependent on the results of the war.”

The Voicewitch nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

“You are dismissed,” Vivia told them with a wave of her hand. “I need to deliberate.”

They disappeared without another word, leaving the rest of the group in silence. Particularly Leopold, who had by some miracle escaped the notice of the Voicewitch while they were here. What a story that would have been.

Arida glanced over at the prince. Well, no, not the prince anymore. “I suppose that worked, then.”

Leopold looked much like he had been hit over the head with a brick, though Stix wasn’t so sure if it was just because of the proximity to the blade and glass. “I suppose it did.”

“Don’t pretend like this isn’t what you wanted,” Iseult said. Her tone was absent of judgment, though, as if she were merely stating a fact.

“It is, but still shocking. I was half-convinced that the Hell-Bards would simply escape and find a new life for themselves. Luckily for us, they chose vengeance.” Leopold took a deep breath before rising to his feet.

He brought his hands together in what could ordinarily be considered a clap, but this time was too monotone to seem like one. “I don’t expect any of you will respect or honor my new position just yet, and I understand, but I hope—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Caden exhaled sharply and knelt in front of Leopold, his head bowed. Zander and Lev exchanged glances with one another before doing the same.

The new emperor of Cartorra blinked. “What?”

“You’ve given us dozens of reasons not to trust you personally, but I do trust you to lead us out of the war,” Caden said. “I’ll be your soldier in the battle to come, and if we make it out alive I’ll think about saying the same for after.”

Lev and Zander echoed his words, and Leopold looked almost uncomfortable with the attention before calm settled over his face and he surveyed the Hell-Bards kneeling in front of him with what looked like pride. “Thank you. I’ll do what I can.”

Arida stepped closer to the Hell-Bards, tugging self-consciously on her collar but not looking away from them. “Again, I’m sorry,” she murmured. “And though I didn’t get the chance to say it before, in Praga…I’m very happy that you’re alive.”

Lev blinked up at her, unimpressed. “Are you waiting for us to say it back?”

“No,” the Wordwitch admitted. “It’s just that—well, I was the one to tell Henrick about Eron fon Hasstrel, and I was the one who came up with the plan to free him. If something _had_ gone wrong in Praga and you three had died, it would be my fault.”

“You’re right,” Caden said. “It would.”

Leopold turned to Arida. “Do you want them to take off your collar?” he asked, and Stix realized the implications of the Hell-Bards swearing loyalty to him again. If Leopold asked them to remove the heretic’s collar and let Arida use her Wordwitchery freely, they would have to since they were under his command now.

Well, this wasn’t good.

But surprisingly, Arida shook her head with a quick glance down at where the Hell-Bards still knelt. “I’d rather prove myself,” she declared, her fingers brushing the collar again as if to indicate that she would leave it there. “And when I’ve done that, I hope you all will let me help in every way I can.”

“Doubtful,” Lev mumbled through a perfectly calm and respectful smile.

Leopold gestured for the Hell-Bards to stand up, which they did without another word. “It’s up to you,” the emperor said to Arida with a shrug before turning back to everyone else who was waiting. “Come on, then. Let’s go to the Air Well.”

The journey to get to the door wasn’t a long one, but it definitely felt that way to Stix, who started to feel wildly disoriented almost as soon as they entered the mountain again. Her already questionable vision narrowed to the path in front of her, and though the voices didn’t return again, her mind still felt split into pieces—but frustratingly, she couldn’t pinpoint any of those pieces. Immediately, she was hopelessly distracted, trying to focus on what was so close to her and yet still out of reach. She had no doubt that she would have wandered and gotten lost if a hand hadn’t slipped into hers, grounding her back to reality.

Stix didn’t want to turn to look in case she strayed from the path, but it was probably Lizl’s. She had been the one to keep her close by the last time they came down here.

But then again, the last time, Lizl had always grabbed her wrist or arm to drag her back. She hadn’t held her hand, and she certainly hadn’t kept holding on once Stix had come back. Confused, she forced herself to turn her head and see who had taken her hand to guide her.

“Viv,” she murmured, exhaling in relief as she let herself lean into Vivia. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Vivia said, her voice tight with worry. “Are you all right? Are the voices talking to you again? Are you hurt?”

Stix blinked, trying to focus on the questions. “I’m not hurt. The voices aren’t back. I’m confused, a little dizzy. It’s hard to see straight.”

“Do you want to go back?” she asked. “We can. We can—”

“No.”

She didn’t want to go back—however strange this sensation was, it was infinitely better than the pain of the voices in her head that had been incessant before, and she was determined to get to the Air Well with the others. Still, Vivia had said we, and that meant she was willing to go back outside and wait with Stix instead of continuing through the doorway to get to Poznin.

It wasn’t an offer she would or could accept, but by Noden, it just made Stix adore her more.

Lacing their fingers together, she raised Vivia’s hand and kissed her knuckles. “Thank you,” she added quietly. “But I’m fine. And we’ll be away from here soon.”

“Yes, we will.” Vivia’s voice took on a bit of hope. “And with all luck, the war will be over soon too. Vaness’s army should arrive before long.”

Stix couldn’t deny that she was eager for that, as they all were. The arrival of the Marstoks would turn the tides of this soon-to-be battle, and before facing the raiders they needed all the help they could get.

“Come on, you two,” Lizl barked from ahead of them. “You wouldn’t last a day in Carawen training at that pace.”

Her head swimming, Stix blinked again and tried to find some kind of anchor to help her pay more attention to her surroundings. Thankfully, she didn’t need to spend long enough doing that to answer Lizl’s question, because Vivia already had. “Luckily for us, we aren’t trying to be Carawen monks,” she said, and though Stix wasn’t looking at her anymore, she could _hear_ the smile in her voice. “I think the queen of Nubrevna and one of the Paladins is quite enough.”

“Not just a Paladin,” Stix insisted, her voice sounding hazy and dull to her own ears. “I’m your captain.”

Vivia squeezed her fingers. “Yes. You are.”

Lizl muttered something that sounded a lot like “I don’t care,” but that wasn’t loud enough to pose a problem for the queen to be hearing. Then she spun around and swept away again, marching ahead at an admittedly faster speed until her cloak blurred beside Aeduan’s and Stix couldn’t tell the two monks apart.

Really, her vision was poor enough without being in dark tunnels beneath a mountain while struggling to decipher her own thoughts. Being a Paladin wasn’t quite fair.

The rest of the walk seemed to pass in a blur, and then they were standing before another one of the doorways wreathed in blue light. Ryber pulled out Eridysi’s diary, which she had somehow managed to hold onto throughout everything they’d gone through to get here, and quickly flipped through the pages to consult Eridysi’s map of the doorways. It would be truly unfortunate for them to miscalculate and go through the wrong door now, only to end up back in Cartorra.

Finally, the Sightwitch must have nodded because everyone crowded in front of the doorway to get through. Vivia nudged Stix forward, and, still clumsy from the deep and inexplicable confusion in her mind, she half-fell into the door and toppled out on the other side, falling on top of Kullen. New clarity rung through her mind and she realized just how cloudy her thoughts had been back in the mountains. She scrambled to her feet, offering a hand to help Kullen up.

She glanced around at the group, now able to focus on them again without having her mind seem to slip away again. Leopold was standing up straight, not leaning on Arida or wincing in pain like he had been in the Sirmayans. In fact, the only person who seemed to be more apprehensive here than they had been behind the door was Merik, who actually shrunk back a little when he took in their surroundings.

Which, now that Stix actually looked at them, were completely unfamiliar. That wasn’t surprising. She’d never been to Poznin before. But still, she hadn’t expected it to be so…empty. Vast plains extended nearly to the horizon itself—even Stix could see _that_ much. The only disruption in the endless nothingness was the Origin Well almost directly in front of them, ringed by oak trees that were either dead or dying and wilted grass.

“Well, here we are,” Ryber announced, far too casual for a person who had just walked through a doorway in the Sirmayans and ended up in Arithuania. Stix wondered how Ryber could ever be so nonchalant about the things she’d done and seen. “Now, I doubt this process will be the same as before, if Esme really did cleave the entire Well.”

“Be careful,” the Firewitch general warned. What was his name? Habim something? There were too many people here. “I was there when Esme cleaved it, and I might not have been able to see the actual process with the Threads, but it almost killed her.”

Merik nodded tightly. “She did mention that.”

“_What_ now?” Safi demanded. “It almost _killed_ her?”

“To create the Loom,” Habim clarified. “That kind of thing isn’t supposed to be possible for someone to do. It’s a wonder that she lived at all, with the amount of power it took out of her. But I don’t think it would be as difficult to undo, considering that she already broke the Threads.”

That answer didn’t seem to satisfy Safi as she pulled her Threadsister close. “It’s not worth the risk, Iz. We can find some other way to—”

“But we can’t,” Iseult interrupted. “I can see her Loom, and I’ve never seen anything like this before, but…she put a lot of her energy into this. A lot. It wouldn’t surprise me if breaking it actually did kill her.”

“What?” Merik asked.

“If this works, which it should, Esme’s control over everyone she has ever cleaved will snap,” Iseult explained. “And so will all of the power that she expended to create the Loom and cleave all those people. She’ll probably die.”

Gretchya tilted her head, but she wasn’t looking at her daughter. She was looking at seemingly nothing, so it had to be the Loom. “It’s impressive,” she acknowledged, though her face didn’t express enough emotion to even come close to implying that she was actually impressed. “Esme did this? Does that mean you could?”

Iseult blinked. “I-I probably _could_,” she said, stammering a little. “But I d-don’t know how.”

“Hmm. All of this, and you can’t make a Threadstone?”

Alma looked down at the grass as Iseult murmured, “No.”

She hummed absently again, leaving no indication that she was going to acknowledge what Iseult had just said about the Puppeteer.

“Could we go back to where you said that Esme would die if you restored this Well?” Stix suggested. “You said her control over the Cleaved would break. Would they die too, or would they be freed?”

“I’m not sure, but—”

“They would be freed,” Alma said promptly. “If the Puppeteer had completely severed their Threads, they’d die, but she kept them whole enough for her to hold and manipulate, turning them into puppets. If you were to break the Loom, it would get rid of her own power and restore their Threads to a living state.”

For the sake of being considerate, Stix didn’t want to ask how Alma could possibly know that if she wasn’t a Weaverwitch, but she was certainly thinking it. It didn’t seem like a question that anyone other than Iseult and Esme would be able to answer.

Luckily, there were others in the group who were less inclined to be diplomatic. “How would you know?” Lizl asked bluntly.

“It’s the principle of Threads,” Gretchya cut in, with a tone that suggested everyone should already have known it. Stix was finding Iseult’s mother to be, though helpful, rather arrogant. “It’s part of what allows us to create Threadstones without harming the people tied to them.”

_Again with the Threadstones._ Were Threadwitches obsessed with them?

Iseult visibly stiffened. “Yes. The principle.”

“What would you need to do to break the Loom?” Safi asked her Threadsister, frowning.

“She would need to—”

“I asked Iz,” she interrupted, before willfully ignoring Gretchya and directing her full attention towards Iseult.

Iseult smiled slightly. “There are countless Threads tied to the Loom, as you could expect from her Cleaved army, but they’re all bound by something. I can’t see it, so it has to be one of Esme’s Threads. If I can separate all of the Cleaved people’s Threads away from her Loom long enough for us to go and restore the Well, the Loom would break and Esme’s Threads tied to it would snap. So would her control over the Cleaved.”

Stix shrugged. Not being able to see Threads herself or even understand a good half of what Iseult had just said, she would have to take her word for it. They all would have to, because they didn’t have much of another option.

“I trust you,” Safi said, biting her lip with worry. “But Iz, be _careful_. I can’t see what you’re doing, but don’t keep doing it if it’s putting you in danger.”

“I won’t, Saf,” she promised.

And then Iseult began what Stix could only assume was separating the Threads of the Cleaved, though—like Safi—Stix couldn’t see any of it. Minutes began to slip by, and still there were no visible signs of anything happening except for Iseult lacing her fingers together with a look of intense concentration like she really was weaving, and for Gretchya and Alma crowding forward to stand beside Iseult. Stix didn’t know what they were doing that for. Neither of them were Weaverwitches, so they could hardly help Iseult, and from the previous conversation they didn’t seem to be all that supportive of her either.

Finally, after some amount of time had passed and Stix still wasn’t noticing anything different, Iseult reached out towards Safi. Her hand was shaking a little, but it seemed to be out of focus rather than any ill effects of what she was doing. “Now,” she said, and Safi seemed to take the hint.

Without another word, they went forward and dove beneath the surface of the Air Well, swimming to get to the center and restore the magic tied to the Well. Stix noticed that Aeduan had inhaled deeply as soon as they disappeared beneath the water and was now holding his breath, probably so he could have an idea of how long the Cahr Awen would be able to stay underwater without oxygen. It was a smart idea.

Not long after, Aeduan was bent double gasping for breath. The fool. Stix could have told him not to keep holding his breath until he was actually about to pass out, but apparently something about the Cahr Awen made him stupid. Well, half of it, at least.

Also, for trying to hold his breath as a measure of time, he was woefully _bad_ at it. As a Waterwitch, she could confidently tell that he didn’t swim often, or at all.

Suddenly, the earth below them shook with the tremors that Stix recognized all too well as an earthquake. She had seen worse, but it was still disorienting enough to briefly knock her off her feet and send her crashing into Vivia, who thankfully helped to hold her up. By the time she was steadier on her feet, the earth had stopped moving and the Air Well was alive, running clear with the water that had been motionless. And as Safi and Iseult rose to the surface again, an almost deafening _crack_ sounded through the open plains as, presumably, the Loom snapped.

The Cahr Awen collapsed on the shore, breathing heavily. Everyone rushed forward, and Stix got pushed behind Aeduan, Lizl, and the Hell-Bards. Still, she could hear Iseult’s words perfectly as she pushed herself into a sitting position and brushed her dripping wet hair out of her face. “Well, that’s it, then,” she said between heavy breaths. “I felt it in my mind, and it’s definitely over. Esme is dead.”

The moment that Vaness got to the top of the hill and came to the edge of a clearing in the snowy forest, she was met with a flurry of noise and activity that had her reflexively raising her hands in case she would need the iron around her wrists. Exhaling slightly in relief, she lowered them again upon seeing her allies.

Her companions, she corrected herself. They might be working together in the war, but they had traveled with each other and fought together for long enough that even she considered them to be a little more than just allies.

Safi’s face lit up as she saw who it was that had arrived at the outskirts of the glade, and she crossed the clearing in a few long steps before throwing her arms around Vaness. “You’ve gotten here just in time! You’re all right? Nothing happened back in Marstok?”

Vaness felt herself stiffen at the unfamiliar contact. No one had hugged her in…actually, she had no idea how long. It felt utterly strange, and stranger still to let someone be close enough to her to permit it. Still, some part of her liked it. She didn’t return the embrace, but she didn’t pull away from it either.

Her friends, she begrudgingly corrected again.

“Well, a fair amount did happen,” Vaness said, striving to keep her voice cold and distant as she always did instead of betraying the warmth she felt upon seeing how excited Safi had been to see her. “But I am perfectly well, and I brought my army.”

Safi pulled back, beaming. “We heard, Your Majesty. Though to me you’ll always be—”

“Spare me.” But in spite of herself, she was fighting back a smile. “Is everyone else nearby? I need to talk to Vivia.”

“Just over here.” Safi grinned. “What, you aren’t happy to see me?”

Vaness almost made a flippant comment, or worse, ignored her. It was far too much of a habit for her to hide any expression of happiness or appreciation, and though she did it to prevent herself from seeming weak or getting hurt, she was finding that in some instances it hurt more for everyone involved to keep on doing what she had been doing.

It wasn’t easy to let her guard down enough to say it, but she managed to look Safi in the eyes as she admitted, “I am.”

Safi blinked. Understandably, she hadn’t been expecting that. “Thank you,” she said, looking baffled but flattered. “I’m happy to see you too.”

“Thank you, Safi.” And she meant it—she wasn’t used to hearing that, either. “But I do need to talk to Vivia.”

She might be glad to have been reunited with Safi, but her only communication with Vivia had been through the Wordwitched papers ever since they separated to go to Marstok and Nubrevna, respectively. She wanted to check in with Vivia to make sure she was ready to go into battle with the army that was now hers, and at the very least, she had congratulations to offer to the new queen.

Safi nodded, her smile never ceasing, and led her back to where Vivia sat on an evergreen tree stump beside Captain Sotar, their hands clasped. Vivia shot to her feet as Vaness approached, tugging Captain Sotar up with her.

“Your Majesty,” Vaness said, inclining her head slightly. If anyone deserved the respect that a queen was due, it was Vivia.

She returned the gesture. “Your Majesty.”

“None of that. I’ve always been an empress.” Not _always_, of course, but close enough. “People have only just started seeing you as a queen.”

Vivia allowed herself a small smile. “Yes. Yes, they have.”

“I could not help but notice a Nubrevnan army as I came up here to meet with you,” Vaness continued. “Shall I assume you know of it?”

“I’m leading it.” Her smile widened.

“Good.” Vaness took a deep breath. She had more that she wanted to say, and the words were difficult, but if she had said it to Safi before she could say it to Vivia now. “I am honored to be your friend and ally. You took back your power from the vizers and, from what I heard, made quite the impression doing it.”

Vivia flushed with pride. “I had no other choice.”

“You did have a choice, and you made it well.” Vaness glanced around the glade. Ryber was also there, surrounded by a large group of Sightwitches, so that answered another of her questions—they had managed to successfully free the sisters from the sleeping ice. Still, there was no one else in the clearing, and Vaness distinctly remembered there being more people that she had left behind. “Where is everyone else?”

Vivia followed her gaze over her shoulder, then nodded in understanding. “Oh. They’re not far. They’re going over strategies for the battle with the raiders. We’d be there too, but Ryber is helping the Sightwitches catch up on everything that’s been happening, and Stix, Safi, and I wanted to wait here for you.”

“You should go, then. Your army needs you, especially before a battle.” And though Vaness did like to reunite with her after only conversing through the Wordwitched papers, Vaness knew that her own army needed her too. The raiders could arrive at any time now, and she had an important conversation to have with her remaining Adders before they did.

Vaness had a reputation of taking things too far when someone angered her, and perhaps she was about to outdo herself. So be it.

“But there are some things I need to tell you,” Vivia explained, gesturing to where she had indicated that the others were strategizing. “A lot has happened, and—”

“It can wait,” she said. She did feel marginally sorry for interrupting, but not enough to take it back. “I need to talk to the Adders that are left. I will be back.” She turned before Vivia could say anything else, knowing that this particular conversation was too important to put off.

When she had returned to her army, she paid no heed to the soldiers arrayed before her and prepared for battle. She required only the attention of her elite guard, of which so few remained following the attacks.

The attacks that allies of the Raider King had helped orchestrate.

Vaness clenched her Witchmarked hand into a fist. An empress wasn’t supposed to think of herself, but she had lost so much to the Raider King, and she had no doubt that she might yet lose more to him. So she marched up to the Adders to give her deadly, and highly illegal, orders.

“When we go into battle, the Cartorran army will likely be there,” Vaness reminded them, looking up at them through their dark scarves to make her point clear. “I do not know where Prince Leopold is, but when I saw him last, he had been working to help us and then betrayed us.” _I wouldn’t be surprised if he were among the ranks of the Raider King himself when we see him next._

The Adders nodded gravely.

“He was not alone. He’d worked with a woman named Arida—pale skin, long black hair, blue eyes, tall. Nomatsi and…Cartorran, I would suppose. A Wordwitch.”

“Yes, Your Majesty?” the Adder on the far right asked her, as though awaiting further instructions.

Vaness drew herself up to her full height. It wasn’t much, but she had been an empress for long enough that her regal posture was more than intimidating. “If you see either of them, no matter where they are on the battlefield or what they are doing, I want you to show them the same mercy they would have shown me and my allies had they been given the chance after they betrayed us.”

“Your Majesty—so we are all with the same understanding—‘the same mercy’ means….”

_No_ one tricked Vaness, Empress of the Flame Children, Chosen Daughter of the Fire Well, Most Worshipped of the Marstoks, Great Destroyer of Kendura Pass. For a little while, she had been inclined to be angry at herself for being tricked by Leopold and Arida before, but that hadn’t lasted long. Even beneath all of her masks and disguises, Vaness wasn’t insecure enough to believe that in all of this, _she _was the one who deserved anyone’s anger.

No, not just anger. Fury. Righteous fury, and every ounce of it had been well earned.

“It means I want you to kill them,” Vaness said, her voice steady. “Even if we are to win the war, it would be impossible for the continent to know peace with their duplicity. If either of them goes onto that battlefield, Adders, I do not want them leaving it.”

Some people would call her cruel for it, but she found that she had very little time for what those people would think of her. Let them think her cold. She _was_ cold, as iron was, and just as unyielding as iron too. She refused to let another of Leopold’s betrayals fall on her hands, but she was more than happy to let his death do so.

And then the war trumpets sounded.

The Raider King’s army had arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this fic is almost over! I just- wow.


	42. Chapter Forty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle has started and already some things have begun to go wrong. And this is just from Merik's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI EVERYONE I AM SO SORRY it's been so long since I updated this - idk why but the words just weren't sounding right. But here it is!! 
> 
> Also, for pacing reasons, this chapter was broken into two, so the final chapter count is 47 and will stay that way this time lol.

The battle had begun, and before Merik could fully comprehend what was happening, everyone began to separate. Vivia immediately went to rally her army and lead the Nubrevnans into battle, and Vaness left to do the same for the Marstoks. Leopold froze in place before evidently realizing that as the emperor, it was now his responsibility to lead his own army, and he disappeared to find the Cartorrans.

That left Aeduan, Gretchya, and Alma to join some of the Carawen insurgents in attacking the Red Sails while Lizl stayed behind to protect the Cahr Awen. Merik and the other Nubrevnans who weren’t in Vivia’s army remained at the edge of the valley, preparing to launch an attack against the Baedyeds who had allied with the Raider King.

“I’ll scout ahead,” Cam volunteered, raising his voice to be heard over the sounds of the battle. “See what’s coming up and how we can fight them.”

“All right,” Merik agreed reluctantly, not liking the idea of the boy getting so close to danger but knowing that he could take care of himself. Besides, someone needed to get near enough to see what was going on so they knew what they were up against. “Be safe.”

Cam gave a quick, radiant smile. “Always, sir.” And then he darted forward into the valley, staying close to the edges until he got closer to the Baedyeds. Merik watched, with bated breath, as Cam crossed behind a group of the pirates to hear what they were saying and planning. He half-expected them to not notice the quiet boy behind them, and half-expected them to turn and attack. He certainly didn’t expect them to scatter, coming close to sprinting away from the area until they were a fair distance away towards the middle of the valley.

That had been strange. Did they see Cam approaching and want to keep their strategies a secret? Though Merik was grateful that they hadn’t tried to hurt him, he would have expected the Baedyeds to be far more violent towards someone they had just caught spying.

“Stop!” Arida shouted, so suddenly and loudly that Merik actually flinched and instinctively jumped to the side. Then he realized that she was yelling at Cam, who—too far away to hear over the mingling sounds of war—didn’t even turn to see who was calling him.

“What’s wrong?” Ryber asked warily, but Arida didn’t pay her any attention.

“_Stop! Cam, come back!_” Arida kept yelling at the top of her lungs, as though she could see something that the others didn’t, but Cam didn’t turn around and kept creeping forward to get closer to the Baedyeds.

Her jaw dropped, as though utterly shocked that he wasn’t heeding her words, but then her hand flew up to the collar around her neck. She must have forgotten it was there, and it occurred to Merik that she had been trying to use her Wordwitchery on Cam to _force_ him to come back. Of course, it hadn’t worked.

“Oh, _shit_,” Arida cursed and then wrenched away from the Hell-Bards’ grip, sprinting toward him before anyone could follow. When she got to Cam, instead of trying to talk to him, she grabbed him roughly by the shoulders before hauling him back around and shoving him back the way they came. Cam, stumbling a little from the force, spun back and struggled against the Wordwitch who kept trying to push him. _What is going on?_ The Hell-Bards looked moments away from following them to break up the skirmish before Arida actually tackled Cam, knocking him to the ground and falling on top of him to cover up his body with her own.

And then the explosion hit. Merik was momentarily blinded from the light and the shock—the first because of the stark contrast against the darkening sky and the second because _really_, the Baedyeds had firepots ready to go off at any moment? No wonder they had ran away as soon as Cam approached. He had been drawing ever closer to their trap.

A trap that Arida had seen, and from which she seemed to have saved his life.

Others weren’t so lucky—even from here, Merik could see a few stray Baedyeds who were too close crumple to the ground, and other raiders get knocked down by debris and not rise again. After a long, almost eerie silence, Arida rose to her feet and helped Cam stand. They seemed, miraculously, to be unhurt.

Arida’s arm was around Cam as they returned back to where the others were waiting, staring speechlessly at what had almost happened to Cam and what she had just saved him from. The ends of her hair curled from the heat of the explosion, but both of them had escaped the debris from the actual detonation. Still, Merik had no doubt that if the boy had gotten any closer, he would’ve been within the range of the firepot when it was activated.

As soon as they got back to the others, Ryber flung her arms around Cam and held onto him tightly. “Don’t do that again,” she admonished. “You were _far_ too close to that.”

“Sorry, Ry,” he murmured. “But if I hadn’t gone, we wouldn’t know they had the firepots! That’s important, and we can—”

“Excuse me,” Merik said, nudging Ryber aside so he could have his turn hugging Cam. “You could’ve died, Cam. You almost _did_. Please be careful.”

“Aw, c’mon. Aren’t I always?”

His heart was pounding. “Clearly not. Those firepots are terrifying and if she hadn’t pulled you back, you’d have been right by it when it happened. Don’t go anywhere near those things again.”

Cam pulled away, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips at Merik’s worrying, but he could see that the boy was shaken up. “I won’t, sir. Promise.”

“Come over here, Wordwitch,” Lev ordered, drawing Merik’s attention away from Cam and over to Arida, who had shrunk back behind the Nubrevnans who were crowding around Cam.

She obeyed, looking highly apprehensive. “I know I didn’t ask before leaving, but I didn’t have the time to tell you what I was about to do, and—”

“Will you shut _up_?” the Hell-Bard muttered, reaching around behind Arida’s neck to fumble with the collar.

Arida’s eyes lit up. “Really? Thank you, I—”

“I will take this off if you keep one of us nearby until this is over and if you stop giving me the gratitude I don’t rutting want,” Lev said, her hands freezing in place as she waited for an answer.

“Of course! I’ll do everything I can to help. Th—of course,” she repeated, catching herself before thanking Lev again.

The Hell-Bard’s mouth thinned in disapproval, but she unlocked the collar and tucked it away in her coat, stepping back from the Wordwitch. “If you betray us again, I’ll kill you before you can even open your mouth to use that damned voice.”

“I won’t betray you,” Arida promised, her hand pressed against her neck. “And I won’t disappoint you either. Now, I’d like to go find Leopold—he doesn’t know that the Baedyeds have these firepots. With your permission?”

“Right back to him again,” Caden said disbelievingly. “Fine. Come on, let’s go.” He gestured for the Wordwitch to follow him as he disappeared into the trees, taking the long way around the valley so as to avoid the center. Who knew how many firepots awaited there?

Merik’s Threadbrother seemed to be thinking the same thing. “We need to find out where the other explosives are and disable them,” Kullen said, addressing not only Merik but everyone else around them. “If we don’t do that, we’ll be walking around on a minefield waiting to be killed.”

“Hye,” Merik agreed, “but how are we going to do that? The only reason we found out about the first one was because that Arida somehow noticed it from over here. I doubt they had time to hide or bury them, but even if they’re all out in the open, it’s still dangerous.”

“And how could we disable them?” Ryber asked, hovering beside Cam. She seemed disinclined to let him out of her sight after what had nearly happened.

“Let’s worry about that after we figure out where they are,” Kullen told her, his voice oddly distant and distracted-sounding. “I’ll go scout ahead.”

Merik seized his arm, fingers digging into his wrist in his haste. “No! Don’t, there are other ways—”

“But I’ll be safe,” Kullen promised. “I’ll even fly so I don’t hit anything.”

“I…all right,” Merik gave in finally, knowing they had precious few other options. Besides, he couldn’t think of any reason that would convince his Threadbrother when he was unfortunately right about flying being the optimal strategy here. He supposed his only apprehension came from the immediate initiative Kullen was taking, and the strange tone of voice he was using.

But Merik had to trust him, like he always did. Like he always would.

“Be careful,” he added, prompting a quick smile of affirmation before Kullen flew further into the valley to see where the other explosives were hidden.

It felt strange for Merik to be in a battlefield where his country was at war and not among the ranks of the Nubrevnan army, but he knew it was for the best. No one wanted him there or even expected him to be there, and he found that he didn’t mind that anymore. He had his own purpose, and it was here among his friends.

Still, he worried for his sister. He couldn’t see Vivia from here, and though her country may have agreed to follow her, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be in danger when faced with the Raider King’s forces.

Suddenly the air went cold—not the familiar chill of the mountains around them, but the abrupt and dangerous kind of cold that was nothing but a warning. The cold of a storm.

_Kullen, no._

Electricity crackled as the sky overhead darkened, and thunder rolled over the valley. The temperature was still dropping. Merik’s Threadbrother was nowhere to be seen. His heart sank.

“What’s happening?” Zander asked, glancing up at the sky. “This doesn’t seem natural.”

“It’s Kullen,” Merik said hoarsely.

Once the rain started falling, Merik took off into flight after him, following the dark clouds to the center of the storm. He ignored the protests behind him. Let them think he was being reckless. He should’ve known what Kullen was going to do the moment he mentioned disabling the firepots, and he wasn’t going to lose his Threadbrother.

The storm kept intensifying, until the wind whipping at Merik made it too dangerous for him to keep flying. He landed ungracefully on the already sodden ground, then sprinted in the direction of the storm he knew Kullen had caused. Looking back on it, he knew he had likely gotten close to another of the firepots, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Because beneath the gray sky and the blinding snaps of lightning was Kullen, doubled over with his hands pressed against his knees. He looked terribly unsteady on his feet and he couldn’t stop coughing, but not once did the storm above them waver or cease. Merik sprinted towards him and gripped his shoulders. “Kullen, stop! Stop this storm—just calm yourself.”

He looked up at Merik, his glassy eyes wide and terrified. “No…Mer…can’t,” he choked out, and Merik’s heart raced. He had guided his Threadbrother through countless breathing attacks, but they were rarely as bad as it was now, and it never got easier to see Kullen look so frightened.

“Let yourself calm down,” he instructed, fighting to keep his own voice steady. It was hard to preach serenity when he couldn’t even stop himself from panicking. “The air will come, Kullen. Stop the storm.”

“Can’t…breathe,” Kullen sputtered, clutching at Merik’s arms to hold him up as he desperately tried to inhale deeply. He didn’t have the strength to wheeze, but he kept doing it, his whole body shuddering as his grip on Merik’s forearms grew weaker.

He wasn’t going to pull out of this one just by calming down. Moments later, Kullen crumpled to the ground, and Merik dropped to his knees beside him to prop him up. He pressed his hands below Kullen’s shoulder blades, applying as much force as he dared to help him relax his lungs and finally, _finally _draw in breath.

But it didn’t happen.

Merik’s hands worked mechanically, thoughtlessly, in motions that he’d repeated dozens of times. He had to be calm, or else Kullen would die.

Oh, but on the inside, he was hardly tranquil. _I won’t lose you again. I can’t. Please stay with me, Kullen. Stay._

Kullen slumped forward.

Merik frantically turned him onto his back, and nearly cried with relief upon seeing his eyes were still open. It was a small consolation, though, when his lips were still parted with shallow inhales that did no good. The cacophony of rain and thunder drowned out the small, scared gasps Kullen must be making.

_I can’t. Please. Stay._

Kullen’s head tipped to the side, limp. Motionless. He wasn’t breathing.

_Noden, please. Don’t take him from me again._

Merik took a deep breath and placed his hands on either side of Kullen’s face before leaning down and exhaling into his mouth. It was difficult to draw the attention of his witchery away from the storm raging around them, but he managed to channel the air into his body.

Again and again, he blew air into his Threadbrother’s mouth, too panicked and preoccupied to think about what might be going on around them. When the rain made their faces too wet for him to keep his lips on Kullen’s without slipping, Merik’s hand slid beneath his neck to keep his head in place—and when he’d exhaled into his mouth for the sixth time, or maybe the seventh, it occurred to Merik that he was crying. Not hard enough to make his breathing unsteady and pose a risk to Kullen, but the tears shook through him regardless, mingling with the rain.

_I’m begging you, Noden. Don’t let this be the end. I’ll do anything._

Another long, deep inhale. Another puff of air into a mouth that wasn’t speaking, wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing.

A shiver wracked through his own shoulders at the absolute stillness of his Threadbrother beneath him. His breathing wasn’t even anymore, stabilized only by the guiding of his magic as he exhaled.

_Please. Not Kullen._

More shudders, more exhales, more _nothing_.

His Windwitchery kept him breathing methodically, but really, Merik was sobbing by now.

The nothingness and the stillness felt almost tangible, which might have been why the absence took a moment to dawn on him. As Merik pulled back, water dripping off his face before he leaned in again, he thought he imagined the movement in Kullen’s chest. Then it happened again—small, barely noticeable, but unmistakably there.

Oh, Noden, he was _breathing_.

The storm was dying, and Kullen wasn’t, and Merik had never thought he would find himself on his knees in a battlefield as he prayed and wept in gratitude. Yet here he was.

“Kullen,” he murmured. He didn’t bother to dry his tears, as his sleeve was far too wet to be of any good and he knew he would just keep crying. “You’re all right. You’re alive. It’s going to be all right.”

Merik doubted his Threadbrother could hear him. His eyes were still closed and his breathing was far too thin to be normal or healthy. But for now he was safe, and Merik had to say it.

He also had to get him to a healer.

Carefully, slowly, he propped up Kullen’s shoulders and supported him in a sitting position. “You’ll be fine,” he kept repeating, as much for himself as for his Threadbrother.

“Mer,” Kullen whispered. His voice was quiet, but it was so, so much better than the silence.

“Kullen.” Merik rested his forehead against his, ignoring the sounds of war around them. He was alive, and that was all that mattered. “I’m going to get a healer for you.”

“But…the firepots,” he managed. “Did I…?”

He glanced at the battlefield around them. He couldn’t tell if all of them were disabled, but he wasn’t seeing or hearing explosions anymore, and he couldn’t imagine that any of them had lasted through the storm. And if logic was any indication, the lightning from his storm would have done some serious damage to the raiders and pirates who wore full armor.

“You did,” Merik answered gently. “You don’t need to try to talk. Just rest. You did it, Kullen.”

He smiled weakly—and before Merik could even begin to help him rise to his feet or bring him to the healers’ tents, a shadow fell over them.

“What have you done to yourself this time?” Evrane asked Kullen chidingly.

Merik had never been happier to see her in his life. “Aunt Evrane! Thank Noden. He’s breathing now but he needs to rest, and—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Evrane said soothingly. He wasn’t sure who she was trying to comfort, Kullen or himself. Probably both. “As talented a monk as I am, I didn’t come here to fight along with the rest. _Someone_ needs to make sure you don’t all die. Let’s get you to the tents.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is Vivia's POV!


	43. Chapter Forty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle of the Witchlands is far from over, and Vivia Nihar is leading the Nubrevnan army as its Queen for the first time. Some complications arise, but she can handle them. She always has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh so sorry for the super long wait!! I'm back on a somewhat normal schedule now lol.

In the chaos and confusion of the war, it was difficult to be certain of much. Metal clashed against metal in frenzied attacks, soldiers called out to one another and sometimes to no one at all, and elemental witches threw the battle into pandemonium amidst their conflicting abilities being used all at once. To keep one’s eyes in front of them and focused on the fight at hand was difficult enough without the added challenge of putting together the rest of the scene. Still, of two things Vivia Nihar was absolutely certain.

First, that she was the one leading the Nubrevnan soil-bound army into battle. Many of them might not like her—it had taken years to get them to even respect her—but they all undoubtedly followed her, awaiting a command that only she had the power to give.

Second, that neither she nor her army were alone. They fought alongside the woman who had driven Vivia to claim what was rightfully hers and the Marstoki army that Vaness had retaken in much the same manner.

This hadn’t been precisely what Vivia had in mind when she shouldered the responsibility of a Queen and took control of Nubrevna’s affairs, but it had been an inevitable part of her rule, and one that she intended to end here before it got even further out of control. Admittedly, it wouldn’t be difficult to handle the war better than her father had, but she wanted more than to be better than the lowest expectation. She wanted to be what Nubrevna needed, wanted, and honored.

And to get to that, she needed to guide her country to victory.

She wasn’t naïve enough to think that the end of the war with the raiders would be enough to earn her the honor she sought. Cartorra’s grievance with Nubrevna and Marstok would be dissolved now that Henrick’s grudge had died with him, but the squabbles of the Truce were one small facet of a much larger problem that Nubrevna had faced for decades. A new ruler would not undo years of mistreatment and attacks. No, that ruler would have to fight for their country’s dignity just like they had fought for their own.

It would be a longer battle than the one Vivia fought now, but she embraced it. Once the Raider King and his army were out of the equation, she would introduce to Nubrevna the things it was always meant to have. Noden and the Hagfishes would finally bend to a woman’s rule.

It was this thought that motivated her as she raised her blade high, as she called out for her generals to order their units into movement. She had already faced her father and her own demons. What was an army of raiders in comparison to what she had spent her entire life fearing?

“Sir!” Vivia turned to see Stix running towards her, and the title made her freeze for a moment. Stix had called her so many different things that she didn’t immediately register the way that “sir” was neither the proper title for her anymore nor what Stix had called her for quite some time. Especially now that they were so close, the way she had always wished to be.

_Not the time._ If Stix was calling her what she had done out on the open sea in the Foxes, it meant that she was either preoccupied or in danger. Or, considering their environment, likely both.

“Hye?” Vivia noticed that Stix’s eyes were wide and her lips were parted as she breathed heavily, gesturing back in the direction she’d come. “What’s wrong?”

“They—the Baedyeds have—”

She didn’t get a chance to hear what it was the Baedyeds had, because she saw and felt it with such clarity that it would’ve been redundant for Stix to finish her sentence. They were just far enough from the explosion that it posed no danger to them, excepting the implications of how many other firepots they might have, but it was impossible to miss the way that flames erupted across the frozen earth and that rubble crashed into the ranks of soldiers standing too close.

Some people must have gotten hurt in the blast, and Vivia would focus on that later, when she had the time and emotional capacity for grieving. Now all she could think about was how they somehow hadn’t seen this particular weapon coming, and how they could very well be standing on a minefield.

“Damn it,” Vivia breathed, glancing back at Stix. “This could decimate our forces.”

“No,” Stix insisted, squinting as though she would be able to read an answer to their problem in the rocky valley. “No, we can find a way around this. Just…do you feel that?”

She did. The air had grown sharp around them, and the sky was beginning to darken.

“A storm’s coming,” Stix whispered, tilting her head up to face the clouds as the first raindrops began to fall. The wonder in her eyes was enough to be certain that she had no part in causing this storm, though it seemed oddly convenient when water was one of the few things that might help them at the moment.

“How is that…” Vivia trailed off when she considered the direction in which the storm seemed to be approaching, and where the explosion had gone off, and where Merik and the others he’d taken with him had gone when everyone split up. “Kullen?”

“It must be.”

The rain was coming down harder now, and lightning crackled above them. Though this storm wasn’t the safest of ideas when they were all so high up in the mountains, she had to admit that they had few other options, and certainly no better ones. Especially when she was standing right next to a full Waterwitch and close to an empress who could manipulate metal.

“Stix,” Vivia said, gripping her hands tightly. “Most of the Raider King’s soldiers are in the center of this valley, which gives them the advantage now that there’s lightning to deal with. But it’s lower than we are now, and there seems to be a hell of a lot of water in this storm.”

Stix saluted. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I’m checking in with the Marstoks. We need the storm redirected and the raiders flooded.”

“Right away!”

Vivia didn’t look back as she sprinted across the now-slippery ground to get to where Vaness’s generals commanded the Marstoki troops. This storm may have been created with the intention of disabling the Baedyed firepots, but it would have the added benefit of weakening the raiders in the middle of the valley once Stix had channeled the water to where it would, at best, slow them down. Thank Noden for Kullen Ikray.

The moment she got to Vaness, though, her gratitude diminished into focused concern. The empress stood upright next to a general who shouted orders at his troops, and the way she waved her hands seemed to indicate that she was controlling the metallic weapons of the Red Sails her soldiers were currently fighting. What drew Vivia’s attention, however, was the blood darkening Vaness’s left arm and coursing down her face.

“What happened?” Vivia exclaimed, pushing forward until she was at her side.

“A pirate snuck up on me,” she said by way of explanation, looking unsurprised to see the queen there. “It is not serious.”

Maybe it wasn’t, but she seemed to be losing a lot of blood regardless, and it would only get worse the more she used her Ironwitchery.

“Stix is going to flood the raider army,” Vivia explained. “Well, she probably has already begun. I came to tell you about the lightning, but you must have already noticed.”

“Indeed.” Vaness flicked her wrists, the chains clinking against each other as one by one, the enemy’s steel weapons channeled the electricity through them or turned on the wielder. “I see now why the Raider King wanted me dead. To face me in battle with so much iron would be the height of foolishness.”

Vivia laid a hand on her elbow. “So would pushing your magic to its limits when the war isn’t over yet. When the raiders are surrounded by water, it will be harder for them to fight back against us, especially with this storm. Will you be able to maintain this until then?”

Distantly, she realized that she had noticed no other explosives going off. So that part of the plan, too, had succeeded.

“Of course,” Vaness insisted, turning to face her as if to prove this. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect—her face was far too pale for this to be sustainable, and blood still gushed from her nose from the overexertion of her witchery as well as from the apparently superficial wound on her arm. She began to say something else, something about the storm, but then she swayed on her feet and Vivia’s hands shot out to catch her.

“I’m taking you to the healers’ tents,” Vivia murmured, her heart racing as she placed one of Vaness’s arms around her shoulders to help support her on their way there. “It’ll be fine.”

“You cannot,” she protested softly. “I can’t be rushed to the healers almost as soon as the battle has begun. My entire army—”

“—has seen you endangering yourself for their sake,” Vivia interrupted, focusing on getting them both one step in front of the other towards the tents. “A servant to your people, hye? Where would they be if not for you?”

Vaness’s head slumped onto her shoulder. She was still breathing, still conscious, but also still bleeding. She needed a Waterwitch healer, and quickly.

When they finally got to the healers’ tents, it was to find quite possibly the last person Vivia had expected to see there. It had been so long since she’d seen Evrane in person that she’d assumed her aunt had gone back to the Carawen monastery and would remain there. 

“Help,” Vivia said, her gaze locking on her aunt’s. She and Evrane had never gotten along, but she hoped that news had spread enough for Evrane to be aware of what she had done for the country as of late. Old wounds could still, sometimes, heal. Couldn’t they?

“What’s wrong?” Evrane asked immediately, giving no indication that she doubted the legitimacy of Vivia’s command.

She breathed a sigh of relief. “The empress got attacked by a Red Sail—she said it isn’t serious, but it won’t stop bleeding—and she used too much magic all at once, which weakened her.”

Evrane’s eyes widened as she realized who her patient was. “Noden and all the Hagfishes. Leave her here, Vivia. I’ll make sure she recovers.”

“Thank you.” Vivia helped Vaness straighten, blood trickling down her chin, and awkwardly handed her to Evrane. “This is my aunt,” she murmured to the empress, “and a talented healer. You’re in good hands. Now rest; your army knows everything you have done for it.”

Vaness managed a weak smile. Vivia matched it, nodded once, then spun on her heel to return to the Nubrevnans.

“Wait!”

She turned back. Evrane was staring at her with an expression that seemed to combine shock with begrudging respect. Her aunt said nothing for a moment longer, then inclined her head. “Your Majesty.”

Vivia smiled.

By the time she got back to the battlefield, she was no longer smiling. The storm was beginning to die down, the rain tapering off and the thunder now a distant rumble, but a small faction of Nubrevnan soldiers had immediately drawn her attention. A group outside of those within her command, whose presence had been neither expected nor authorized on this march.

Who were led by her father.

If someone told her that she’d been struck with the lightning from Kullen’s storm, at that moment she might have believed it. The energy blistered through her until all the fear and uncertainty was replaced by anger. After all she had done for Nubrevna, and all that Serafin hadn’t, who were these soldiers to decide that their loyalty still lay with her father? And who was her father to, in the midst of such death and destruction, presume to lead them?

Vivia knew with heart-stopping certainty what Serafin meant to do. His pitiful collection of traitors would do nothing to influence the outcome of this war, but if he did something _just_ heroic enough to draw the eye away from his daughter, this story would be about him instead of the queen. About how Serafin, even in his ill health, had found it in himself to join the efforts against the Raider King.

After her display in the room of the High Council, Vivia knew that her father’s desperate attempt would not sway the vizers who had already sworn fealty to her back in Lovats. What it would do was lead people to talk about Serafin once more instead of the one person whose name should be spoken and respected all throughout Nubrevna, the one person he had tried so hard to silence.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, in such surprise and fury from this spectacle that it was a wonder she wasn’t ambushed by raiders who spotted an opportunity. When her vision cleared and she regained her priorities—Stix, her army, Nubrevna—she realized that her father’s group of deserters was in a distinct state of disarray. As someone who had served time on the front before, Serafin should know how to command soldiers and get them to obey, but they seemed to be spread out in a lax formation with few of them even fighting.

_What is going on?_

In spite of her better judgment, Vivia drew closer.

Well, that explained it. Soldiers couldn’t follow a commander that wasn’t giving orders.

Serafin had fallen.

Vivia was at his side before she even realized that she was moving. He didn’t see her at first, and was propped up on one elbow trying to shout directions at soldiers who were either not hearing or not listening. It should have comforted her to see that his traitorous followers may not be as loyal to him as they seemed, but it didn’t. Instead she was too busy warring with her own conflicting feelings about what would likely be the last time she saw her father alive.

She had seen enough people die to know how late was too late to be saved, and the stab wound in his abdomen was the clearest indication. Not to mention the fact that she knew her father, and if he could be standing at all right now, he would be.

“Who did this to you?” she asked, falling to her knees beside him. Her voice was laced with emotion, though even she couldn’t fathom what kind. She knew that it _shouldn’t_ be anything but dull curiosity, what with all that he had done to her, but it clearly was not. Some part of her still worried for him, still found it in herself to care as he struggled to breathe and collapsed down onto his back.

If Serafin had ever truly cared about her, that was a long time ago—but he had done such a painfully good job at pretending since then that Vivia still missed it. Not him, but the act he had put on, the sweet smiles and kind lies making her believe even after her mother’s death that she had a father who loved her.

He shook his head. Whether that meant he did not know who had struck this blow or he would not tell her, Vivia didn’t know. She supposed it didn’t matter, but she had to put a name to something, and the person who had killed her father was an easier solution than the tangled thoughts racing through her shadowed mind. She wished Iseult were here to see her Threads and put words to them.

“I suppose,” Serafin rasped, “that you’ll…be Queen now.”

“I already am, Father,” Vivia said. She wasn’t sure how, but her voice remained steady.

He coughed, a bitter smile twisting his blood-flecked lips. “And that…you’ll be the next war hero who didn’t deserve it.”

The words landed like an arrow to her heart, because they were exactly what she still worried in the private corners of her head, and what even Vaness seemed to be concerned about as she was led, barely conscious, to the healers. After all, Vivia might be _suited_ to be the Queen of Nubrevna, and she might even be good at it, but what had she done to earn that rank?

Nothing, yet. Nothing until this war was over and her country finally had something to show for it.

As long as that answer was still nothing, Vivia would carry those doubts with her, and her father knew it. His admission that he himself did not deserve honor as a war hero meant nothing when it prodded at the insecurities that he knew full well she bore.

She swallowed hard. Perhaps she and her soldiers had not yet declared victory on this battlefield, but she had survived this far and brought most of her people with her. In a nation filled with those who tried to stifle her words as soon as she could speak them, survival in itself was an accomplishment, but she had done more than that. She still offered the vizers a second chance, and she still saw hope in the country that had been without it for so long.

Vivia would be a hero, and she would be a Queen, and she would deserve every minute of it.

“Vivia,” Serafin began. His voice was growing weaker, and his eyes were distant. She knew that he had only minutes, if that, to say whatever it was he meant to say to her now.

And she found, to some surprise, that she did not at all want to hear it.

Serafin knew he was dying, and he intended to bring some small part of his daughter down with him while he took his final breaths. For the first time, Vivia was able to fully let go of her own obligations to him as her father. It might have been harder, she thought, if he’d ever acted like one.

So she straightened her shoulders and walked away, marching back into the battle with a blade in her hand and a new authority that overshadowed even the guilt in her heart. She had even less time to dwell on a years-old pain than she had for regrets, and she knew that her father’s last words would only hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked it!!! This fic is almost over and I can't wait for you to see what happens next. :D


	44. Chapter Forty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the battle draws to a close, Aeduan finds purpose among the loss and a way to finally end this war for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't know what to say except for that this chapter is long and sad and significant and ahhhhh I hope you all like it!!!

Aeduan still was not sure if they had made the right decision. Everyone went into this battle for different reasons and with different ideals of what the perfect outcome would be, but one thing remained certain between them all: the Cahr Awen had to be protected at all costs. Once this was over for good, Safiya and Iseult would use the united Origin Wells and Paladins to restore Sirmaya’s Threads and heal the parts of magic that were dying. It was imperative that no harm come to them.

Though both were eager to help their allies in the fighting—and though he could personally vouch for their capability in defending themselves—safety had to come first when so much was at stake. After all, it wasn’t as if there were any other Cahr Awen around who could take up the tasks if either of these were to fall, and Aeduan had sworn an oath of protection that he meant to uphold.

Both Safiya and Iseult understood why they could not be in the middle of the battle, even if neither of them liked it, but convincing them to split up for added precautions had proven impossible. They insisted that they worked best together and refused to separate even though both of them in one place could spell out the perfect target.

For possibly the first time in Aeduan’s memory, Lizl had agreed with him. Though neither of them could persuade Iseult or Safiya to go somewhere else, she had accompanied them to the edge of the valley-turned-battlefield and promised never to let them out of her sight. One woman to protect two others would have sounded ambitious if the woman in question had been anyone but Lizl, and Aeduan knew, logically, that he was of more use here fighting the Red Sails than he was looking out for people who already had more protection than they would require.

Still, the logic in him did nothing to silence the other voice in his mind that would not quiet. The one that said he should not have left them, that if anything were to happen it would be his fault.

“Aeduan!”

He whirled around to find the person who had yelled his name, and saw that Alma and Gretchya were completely surrounded by Red Sails. Surprisingly, they were holding their own against the pirates, but more kept approaching and two Threadwitches with cutlasses would not be able to take the upper hand.

Aeduan leapt into action, pinning down the blood-scents of the attacking Red Sails and locking them into stillness. He would not be able to maintain it indefinitely, but thankfully Gretchya already understood what he was doing, as she did not hesitate to stab the nearest immobilized Red Sail through their heart.

Though he was grateful to her for immediately handling the situation before his witchery was overwhelmed, he was shocked by the ruthlessness. Then again, if what Iseult had told him after she killed Corlant was any indication, her mother was anything but a simple Threadwitch.

He followed her example, and after managing to catch her breath, Alma followed his. He did not enjoy having to kill people who were unable to fight back from his own Bloodwitchery—it was not honorable, and even mercenary killers valued a fair fight—but they had given him no other option.

Once they had killed all of the Red Sails who had surrounded them, he directed his attention toward the Threadwitches. There was a gleam in Gretchya’s eyes that Aeduan interpreted as a challenge to any other pirates who might dare to approach. It wasn’t a look that he would have expected to see from her, but it was enough to convince him that Gretchya was undisturbed by what had just happened.

So he turned to Alma instead. He almost turned away again, because she did an almost perfect job of hiding her mingled shock and horror. Her posture was casual, her shoulders were balanced, and her face betrayed no emotion at all. When he really looked at her, though, it was her eyes and hands that gave her away. Her green eyes were not overly bright with fear but rather closed off and unreachable, like she had retreated into some inner place where no one could hurt her. She gripped her cutlass with only the tips of her fingers, keeping it close in case any other attackers arrived but not holding it with the entirety of her hands as if that would make the blood disappear.

Alma had never killed before. With those eyes and hands, he would easily bet on it, and suddenly it was impossible to forget that this woman had never been a stranger to him. They had grown up together, played together, been good friends with each other until the attack on their tribe. That attack had happened the same way for both of them, and neither had lost more than the other in it. In the years since then, Aeduan had become a Carawen monk and carefully honed his abilities to kill people. Alma had studied the peaceful creation of Threadstones even when she had more reasons than he did to want revenge against people who had wronged them.

“It had to be done,” Aeduan told her, hoping his awkward words were at least a little helpful. “They were trying to kill you, and they would have succeeded without guilt.”

“I know,” Alma replied coolly, blinking as though surprised that he had thought to say it. Though she acted casual, the blankness in her eyes did not go away, and neither did the delicate way she held her cutlass. Alma smiled.

He felt as though it was his responsibility to reassure her, especially when she was so new to something he knew so well, but he had no idea how to comfort someone who refused to be comforted. Or admit that they needed comfort.

If he hadn’t been distracted by trying to help Alma, and if he hadn’t just used his Bloodwitchery to immobilize the pirates, he felt sure that he would have sensed the others coming before. As it was, the first of the Red Sails marked his arrival with a sword in Aeduan’s back.

He stumbled forward, pain flaring where the blade impaled him. He barely even had a chance to turn around before three other Red Sails drew closer while more focused on Gretchya and Alma. It would take more than getting stabbed to stop Aeduan, but it _did_ slow him down long enough for another pirate to slash at his side while another pierced his heart before he finally cut them down.

Aeduan would heal from this, as he always did. The process was already weakening him, though, and if more Red Sails showed up he did not think he would be able to fight them. He tried to take deep, steadying breaths to distance himself from the pain and allow his witchery to fully repair his wounds, and within moments he had managed to do what all Carawen monks were taught.

_A monk is not his body. A monk is not his mind._

His Bloodwitchery worked faster when he was more detached from the world around him, but that also had its consequences, such as not being fully aware of a situation until it was too late. So Aeduan stood motionless as his heart knit itself back together, as the Threadwitches began to lose their ground, as metal gleamed before Alma and the Red Sail she was fighting both crumpled.

Later, when his mind was clearer and he could recall the moment with more certainty, Aeduan would note that her fatal mistake had been getting too close. It was difficult to judge distance in the middle of combat, but Alma had gotten too near and made herself defenseless when the pirate took advantage of their proximity. The sudden strike had allowed her to make one of her own, which accounted for the similar stab wound in the Red Sail’s heart.

In the moment, however, he was thinking none of this. He was thinking nothing at all, because he was too busy forgetting about the limits of his Bloodwitchery and jumping forward to defend, or really avenge, the friend he’d known longest. He ignored his injuries that had yet to close and the fatigue washing over him in waves as he used the quickest maneuvers Monk Evrane had taught him to get rid of the other Red Sails. Soon he could barely see for the red drenching his vision, but it was impossible to miss the uncharacteristically guttural cry from Gretchya as she stabbed the final pirate.

Breathing heavily and still bleeding, Aeduan spun around to go to Alma. Her blood-scent stood out amongst the others, but it had ceased unmistakably. Her heart beat no longer.

His head swam from blood loss. He only managed to take one step forward before Gretchya blocked his path.

“Let me see her,” he said softly. It had been fifteen years since the attack on their tribe. He was not supposed to watch the only person who also understood it be killed in front of him.

“I do not want you anywhere near her,” Gretchya told him, an entirely different gleam in her eyes now. “Do you understand me?”

Aeduan could have protested, or pushed past her regardless, but he did not have the strength for either option at the moment. Between the wounds that his weakened Bloodwitchery was still trying to heal and the unexpected, confusing grief that twisted through him, he found that he did not have strength at all. His knees buckled as Gretchya turned away from him, rushing to Alma’s body.

She kept vigil at the side of the woman who may as well have been her daughter while she prayed to the Moon Mother for her soul’s safe passage. He watched from afar, his healing magic settling all other sensations into a dulled pain and the urge to rest.

He did not realize that someone was directly in front of him until he felt a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?” a familiar voice asked.

“Lizl,” Aeduan murmured. Before he knew what he was doing, he had brought his hand up to rest on top of hers beside his neck. “Red Sails.”

“I can see that,” she said, yanking her hand away. “Can you stand?”

He took a quick evaluation of his injuries. “In a moment, perhaps. What of the Cahr Awen? You were not supposed to leave them.”

“They’re fine,” Lizl promised. “We got ambushed by Baedyeds, and they both took care of quite a few. I cut off the general’s head, so any remaining Baedyeds will be in disarray now. The Cahr Awen are in the healer’s tents checking on that Wordwitch who raised them—what’s his name? In any case,” she continued before he could tell her Mathew’s name, “you need to talk to your father.”

Aeduan blinked. “What? Why?”

“Before I killed him, the general was talking to his ranks of pirates and it seems like they distrust the Raider King,” she explained. “He’s been acting erratically and is unwilling to give them what he’s promised. If he’s wavering in his cause, you are the only one who could get him to fully make up his mind, especially if you tell him that his daughters are alive and safe. And even if he doesn’t, the raider forces may tear themselves apart before we have to.”

“I can try, but I do not know if he’ll listen. Besides, I—are you injured?” He had only just noticed that Lizl’s hand was pressed against her side.

“Just a cut.” She waved her free hand dismissively. “Would I be walking around talking to you if it was worse? Now come on. We need to go find your father.”

If what she had said about the Baedyeds was any indication, then an audience with Ragnor might be exactly what they needed to get him to finally give up, especially now that they had the Cartorran army on their side as well. Still, he could not forget the oaths of loyalty that both of them had sworn. “But Iseult and Safiya—”

“The Cahr Awen can take care of themselves,” Lizl said fiercely, her dark eyes oddly bright and piercing. “We must know when to let them, and when to finally put a stop to all this death. You need to end this, Aeduan.”

“I will,” he agreed, bowing his head in a quick silent prayer to whoever might be listening. He prayed for the safety of Iseult and Safiya, for the soul of Alma, and for everyone else who had been hurt by the way his father had gone too far. Because after all that he had done to help Ragnor over the years, it _was_ his responsibility to finally end it.

She nodded approvingly before reaching into her pocket and handing Aeduan a journal. His mouth went dry as he stared at one of his mother’s diaries, identical to the ones Ryber had recovered from the workshop and the Veñaza City archives. “Where did you get that?” he managed hoarsely.

“I stole it from Ryber last night. Eridysi’s son? _Really_? You’ve always tried to outdo everyone else.” Lizl shoved the book at him. “Show this to your father with all its ridiculous sentiment.”

He accepted it carefully as he rose to his feet. Though he was finally finished healing, he felt only marginally better. He could walk, and he could probably fight if it really came down to that, but he had gotten to the point of exhaustion where it would be far from his first choice and also his fifth.

“Well then?” She raised her eyebrows.

“If I am the only one who can make him listen,” Aeduan began, “why are you coming with me?”

Lizl’s shoulders slumped as though his lack of intuition was truly tiring her. “Because if this works and the Raider King stands down, I want it remembered that the idea was mine.”

Well, she remained predictable, at least.

They stayed by the outskirts of the battle as Aeduan led her to the center where he knew his father would have set up a makeshift command center for his troops. He liked to be in control, and he liked everyone to know it.

In spite of his betrayal back at the Aether Well—which felt like so long ago now—the raiders standing guard by the command center parted to let Aeduan through to find his father. It ended up being easy. He was frantically sorting through maps and diagrams with none of the soldier’s calm that he usually possessed, and his eyes were wide when he looked up to see the visitors.

As soon as they stood before the Raider King, Lizl fell to her knees, her head bowed. It took Aeduan aback. They were here to make Ragnor surrender, after all, not to show him respect or anything resembling allegiance. Why, then, did Lizl kneel before him?

And then he realized that her hand was still at her ribs. When he really paid attention, the way he hadn’t before, he also realized that her breathing was shallow and her face tight with pain. It occurred to him that her strangely intense eyes and slumped posture had likely meant more than just passion and irritation.

Ignoring the look of surprise on his father’s face to see his son and a Carawen insurgent who had just collapsed at his feet, Aeduan knelt beside Lizl, his tired heart pounding. “What happened to you?”

She didn’t move her hand out of the way so he could see her injury, which meant that it was bad. “I may have gotten stabbed by the Baedyed general,” she admitted softly. “Before I cut off his head.”

“What the _hell_, Lizl? You said it was just—”

“It _is_ just a cut,” she gritted out. “I said nothing of its severity.”

He could not believe this. “That is a poor description of a stab wound.” The familiar banter helped distract him from the irrational panic settling over him. Lizl was not the kind of person who simply got stabbed—she was bold and reckless and she liked to think she was invincible when really, she may as well have been. She had probably been born trying to prove something to the world. It would take more than a Baedyed’s blade to make Lizl fall.

And yet in spite of that impossibility, she was on her knees clutching her side, her eyes too bright and her face too pale. Without thinking, Aeduan reached out with his severely depleted witchery, trying to latch onto her blood-scent. The sharpened steel and daisy chains seemed to be evading him, though, and he did not have the energy to stop her blood like he had done with Evrane and Lev when they were injured.

She had always been observant, and she almost immediately realized what he was trying to do. “No,” Lizl said, the glimmer in her eyes only intensifying. “Don’t you dare. We’re here for a reason.”

“You should have gone to the healers instead of coming with me. We are allies now, and I am not going to let you die.”

“We might hate each other a little less, Aeduan,” Lizl muttered. “But if we lose this war because you tried to save me, you won’t deserve my forgiveness.”

He wanted to protest, but he knew that she had already made up her mind about which was more important. If speaking to his father was what she wanted him to do, then he would do it.

“Just help me up,” she added, grabbing his hand a little too tightly. Aeduan couldn’t help but wonder if she was overcompensating because she didn’t want her grip to feel weak. Still, he said nothing as he tugged her to her feet. A Carawen’s best armor was their pride and he would not take that away from her.

“Son,” Ragnor said, looking mildly troubled. “She needs medical attention. I have healers—”

“We have to talk,” Aeduan interrupted, even as Lizl leaned heavily against his shoulder and still refused to move her hand. Lizl needed him to focus, and so did the Cahr Awen. “Now.”

His father blinked. “We are in the middle of a battle. I’ll admit, my prospects seem…rather bleak. This isn’t the best time for a conversation.”

“That’s exactly what we need to talk about. I am tired of all the death, all the bloodshed.” It was even truer than he let Ragnor know. How long had he spent chasing after nothing but coin and the cause, nothing but dedication to a goal that seemed both out of reach and, now, quite imminent? It had been easy for him to follow those instructions, so he had wrongly assumed that there was no cost.

The cost, though, was far too high. He had begun to truly see the cost that day by the Aether Well, but the truth of it had not sunk in until he saw Gretchya kneeling in prayer beside Alma’s body and Lizl, the one who had made him first realize the way that death truly followed him wherever he went, insisting that they end this war now even if it killed her.

Ragnor inclined his head. “As am I. War is not easy. I’ll admit to you, Aeduan, that my own motivations seem hardly worth what the fighting has caused, but there’s little that can be done now.”

“You can bring all of this to an end.” He pulled out the journal and held it out for his father to see. “You know that she wouldn’t have wanted this.”

“She…” Ragnor snatched the book from his hands, flipping through it almost reverently. “Where did you find this?”

Aeduan nodded towards Lizl. “She got it for me.” It was stretching the truth, but she _had_ been the one to steal it from Ryber and Lizl deserved the credit she wanted. “Look at the pages, Father, at her handwriting. She loved you, but she would not have loved this.”

As soon as he had said the words, he did not know what he was referring to by “this.” He could easily have meant the carnage all around them outside the command center, or what Ragnor had become the moment he claimed the title of Raider King. Either, he thought, would be a dagger hitting its mark.

Before he could continue, Lizl ducked her head as she started coughing. She recovered from the spasm before he could truly start to panic, but her sleeve was damp with blood when she took it away from her mouth.

Aeduan forced himself to refocus on his father. “And what about Lisbet and Cora?”

Ragnor’s mouth fell open. “What about them?”

“They are alive and free,” he said, remembering the way both had smiled at him before they stayed with Owl and a few of the older Carawen insurgents who had volunteered to look after the children while the other monks fought. “Do you think Lisbet wants to have foreseen a future in which her father continues to destroy all who oppose him? Do you think either of them should spend their childhood in the aftermath of a raider victory?”

“Of—of course they should not,” his father replied, seeming to have forgotten about the journal in his hands. “Where are they?”

“Safe,” Aeduan assured him, “and away from the violence. But that does not mean the violence will not touch them. Believe me, Father, I know what such things can lead to.”

_They can lead to bitterness, and misplaced resentment, and self-loathing because you need someone to blame. They can lead to honing that hatred into even more violence that continues the cycle, and the girls deserve so much better than to end up the way I did._

He did not say this aloud, but Ragnor seemed to hear it nonetheless.

“I cannot do this to them,” his father murmured. “I cannot. But I must continue if I am to maintain the respect of my forces.”

“What forces?” Aeduan asked bluntly. “Your Puppeteer is dead. The Fury has gone away. Corlant died back in Cartorra. Eron fon Hasstrel died betraying you, Mathew and Habim have joined our side, and I don’t know if Leopold and Arida are working with us but they certainly are not working with you.”

Ragnor blinked. “Who is Arida?”

Well, that was unexpected. “What do you mean, who is she? The prince’s Threadsister, a Wordwitch who used to spy for you.”

“The prince did say that a member of his Thread-family would be helping him,” Ragnor admitted, “though he did not tell me her name or witchery. I’ve never met her in person. I had forgotten about her.”

“I assure you we haven’t. And in the Orhin Mountains, Corlant gave her away by name.”

Ragnor looked baffled. “Did he? The only Wordwitch I expressly recall having recruited is Mathew fitz Leaux. It’s entirely possible that he mentioned a Wordwitch and allowed you all to fill it in with the name of the one you knew, then did not correct you so as to let Mathew’s allegiance remain a secret.”

Aeduan had not been there when Vivia learned of Arida’s betrayal, but if this was truly what had happened, then Corlant had been even more despicable than they had believed him to be.

“Regardless,” his father continued, “I understand your meaning. I have few allies left, truth be told. I even had to order the death of Vizer Quintay when he was too careless in his loyalty to me, though some of his soldiers still remain. I don’t know what happened to them or where they are now.”

“So the pirates are all you have left,” Aeduan said flatly. “And I would warn you of them. This monk just killed the Baedyed general, and you know that the admiral of the Red Sails no longer puts her trust in you. Do you really think you can defeat three armies with a group of pirates that have no leader and another group of pirates that hate you?”

He glanced down at the book with a sigh. “I have no option but to try.” To his credit, he did sound guilty, and just as tired as Aeduan felt. “I have made deals and just as many promises. To break them now would be my downfall.”

“You are already losing,” Aeduan pointed out. “You know this. Trying to uphold your promises to the Baedyeds and Red Sails won’t make your defeat any less inevitable. It will just make more people die between now and then.”

Vaguely, he could sense a new blood-scent approaching. His witchery had already been weakened so much that identifying it would take too much effort, though, so he did not let himself get distracted.

“My mother wouldn’t want this,” he continued. “Neither would my sisters, and neither do I. I do not think you want it, either. Not really. I just watched one of the few other survivors from the attack on our tribe be killed while she fought your Red Sails. She shouldn’t have had to fight them at all, but she had no choice. Where will you draw the line? When will you say that enough is enough?”

“I am truly sorry, Aeduan. For all the damage I have caused.”

“You can’t undo that damage,” he told his father honestly. “And you cannot fix it either. The only thing you can do now is say that you will cause no more.”

They stared at each other for a minute longer, father and son, king and monk, seeker of justice turned war criminal and murderer turned peacemaker. Hazel eyes met blue, a family bound together by love and fate and regret.

“I will do no more harm,” Ragnor said softly. “I will stand down. I promise.”

Aeduan finally let go of the breath he had been holding. They had done it.

“Thank you, Father,” he replied, and he hoped it was clear how many other people thanked him in those words. “Now, we may discuss the terms—”

Ragnor’s eyes widened. His lips parted with a strangled gasp as the blade punched through his chest, twisting in a way that was probably less about efficiency and more about cruelty.

“Your terms of surrender, Raider _King_?”

Kahina drove her sword deeper into Ragnor’s back.

Aeduan froze in shock. The Red Sail admiral twisted her blade a second time, then withdrew it entirely. Her eyes blazed with fury and betrayal as the Raider King fell.

Before he could even begin to react, a knife soared through the air and embedded itself in Kahina’s heart. It had been thrown so fast that Aeduan was barely able to see it, but nonetheless he immediately recognized it as Carawen steel. The accuracy with which it was directed, too, could only be expected from its namesake.

And sure enough, Lizl’s hand was outstretched, in perfect form despite her wound. Her chest heaved with the effort to breathe deeply without coughing, but her eyes remained fixed on Kahina as the woman fell, blood darkening the front of her clothes.

No one could ever say that Lizl didn’t see things through to the end, or—if Aeduan was being honest with himself in spite of their rivalry—that she wasn’t the perfect Carawen monk.

“Aeduan,” Ragnor managed, his voice hoarse and quiet. Aeduan immediately went to his side, kneeling at his shoulder to see if there was anything that could be done. He knew almost before he had checked, though, that there wasn’t. His Bloodwitchery had already been pushed to the absolute limits, and Ragnor was already on the threshold between life and death.

Lady Fate’s knife had finally fallen. It might have taken some ushering from more than one person, but it was immovable.

“You did what was right,” Aeduan told his father. “In the end.”

“I hope I did,” Ragnor said, “but…I fear I haven’t. Look after them. Lisbet and Cora. Give them…what we could not give to you.”

“I will.”

Ragnor went still.

Though he knew there had to still be the sounds of fighting outside the command center, the world seemed to go silent in that moment. Carefully, Aeduan closed his father’s eyes and took a deep breath. The second dead body today that seemed to pierce straight to his heart.

Because Ragnor had wronged thousands of people, but in the last moments of his life, he had _tried_. It was more than most others could account for, and he was still family.

Or at least, he once had been.

“It’s over.”

Aeduan turned to look at Lizl, who was barely standing at this point but somehow still had that look in her eyes that said she’d gladly take on an army. “The Raider King is dead,” she went on. “And so are the leaders of the Baedyeds and Red Sails. Defeating the soldiers that remain will be easy now.”

“And it will be an easy task that someone else accomplishes,” he said decisively as he crossed over to her. “You shouldn’t have been here regardless.”

Lizl exhaled sharply in irritation, but finally took her hand away from the wound. Her side was soaked with blood, and her palm was just as gruesome. Between that and merely the way she looked at the moment, she needed help immediately if she was going to make it.

“We’re going to the healers,” Aeduan told her. “Now.”

“I don’t—”

“You do.” He slipped his arm behind her shoulders to guide her along the outside of the battlefield, to where the healers had set up their tents. Some waited outside to monitor the situation and see if anyone needed emergency assistance in the middle of the conflict, but they were still too far away to see the Carawen monk who was barely keeping one foot in front of the other.

Or the one helping her walk who was being so oddly, uncharacteristically talkative. Aeduan barely recognized himself as the words continued to fall from his mouth—anything from reassuring Lizl that her plan had worked to thanking her for killing Kahina with such haste to repeating, again and again, that before long the war would be over. He found himself not just nervous but afraid, for the life of the person who had spent her entire life hating him and for whom the sentiment had always been shared.

“It’s because of you that this has ended,” Aeduan added, glancing over in hopes of seeing her reaction to his oddly flattering words. It was rare, unprecedented really, for him to say such things, but now it felt as if he couldn’t stop. As if all of the compliments he had begrudgingly thought but never said as they trained together growing up were now pouring out in waves.

Lizl did not smile, but her face relaxed and her lips tugged slightly upward into what could no longer be considered a scowl. Directed at him, it was certainly close enough to not friendship, but at least the respect they had both denied each other for too long.

“And…I am sorry,” Aeduan added, forcing the honest words out. “For everything that happened in the monastery.”

Lizl let out a choked laugh, which sent her into a fit of coughing so hard that she doubled over. He swiftly crossed in front of her and gripped her shoulders to help hold her up. Blood trickled from her mouth, staining her lips scarlet as she struggled to breathe between ragged coughs. When her lungs finally seemed to stop protesting the pained laughter, her breaths rattled with a sound that was far too familiar to Aeduan. 

Sure enough, before they could continue walking to the healers up ahead, Lizl crumpled in his arms. He lowered her to the ground, gesturing frantically for the alert healers to come over as quickly as possible, but her dark eyes were already glassy and the sound of her breathing was enough proof that he was losing her. 

“I…forgive you,” she managed. She didn’t have the strength to cough anymore, but her mouth was still set in that slightly less aggressive expression that, from Lizl, passed for a smile. And it was set in the same expression when the healers crouched beside them to see if there was anything that could be done, and the same when they left upon seeing that there wasn’t, and the same when Aeduan was the only one kneeling beside the best of the Carawen monks who had now fallen like so many of the rest.

The _third_ body today that truly hurt.

Aeduan gently closed her eyes as well before taking the opal out of her ear and tucking it into his pocket. Later, when this was truly over and in the past, he would take it to the monastery to report her death and pay his respects. He would tell the other monks of Lizl’s courage and dedication, and the way that this war would not have truly ended today if not for her. Yes, it had been Aeduan’s words that had convinced Ragnor to stand down, and not hers. But he had done it at her instruction and in the midst of her selflessness, and for once in his life, Aeduan thought he would do best to swallow his pride.

Now, though? Now he had a job to do. He had the remnants of a raider army to defeat, and the Cahr Awen to protect as he honored the oath he had sworn. He would go to find Iseult and Safiya, doing all that he could to keep them safe while they brought the Witchlands its much-deserved peace.

Aeduan rose to his feet. He had been granted forgiveness, and now he had to earn it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry....but I'm also not because I loved writing this chapter and I am so excited to finish this fic!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! You can find me on Tumblr @twilightlegacy13 or @thevoidwell.


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